Iron
by Sam King
Summary: 1914, and the fateful shots at Sarajevo have sparked a war that Europe was truly unprepared for. It was supposed to be a short war yet it will last four years. Four years for nations to truly become tired and bitter of war. Friendship, alliances, and relationships will be put to the test as it continues, because ghosts aren't the only things that can haunt you. Full summery inside.
1. Chapter 1

World War One

_**Full Summery: Europe has been tense for the past fifty years with the rise of rival nations all competing for the same resources. Empires are built while others begin to wane. Rodriech wants to survive this new world that has emerged with his power, which is steadily declining, intact. Gilbert is harboring a grudge for the past century and intends to make good on his threats against Francis while making sure that everyone knows Germany is not to be messed with. Arthur and Francis are tired of fighting each other and know they could be stronger if they work together in this new century. And Ivan just wants to stop being the one everyone fears. **_

_**But it's 1914 and the fateful shots at Sarajevo have sparked a war that none of them were truly prepared for. Between the muddy trenches and the misjudgment of its length, this war will become one of the worst. These four years will be enough for all nations to truly become bitter and tired of war. During its length friendships, alliances, and relationships will be put to the test as tensions rise and empires fall, because ghosts aren't the only things that can haunt you. **_

Chapter One: June 27, 1914

**Sarajevo, Austro-Hungarian Empire**

His nose twitched as the sun hit it, waking Rodriech up slightly. Mumbling to himself though he rolled over to hold his wife Elizaveth only to find the space empty. He cracked one amethyst eye open, she never got up before him, she much preferred to lie around all morning in bed then to get up. They had responsibilities though, only on occasion could he indulge her in such pleasures. This was not his bedroom; it wasn't even a room in of his many houses. Sarajevo, he was visiting Gabrielo, the representative of the Serbians, a rowdy boy who had recently been loudly protesting the idea of one Serbian nation which would upset his empire's holding of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Rodriech was a bit afraid that the boy's ideas of nationalism would spread to the other regions under his control, he had worked hard for the past four hundred years to keep his empire together, first by helping the Holy Roman Empire and then with his own empire, it was really just part of what had been the Holy Roman Empire, nearly a hundred years ago. He would not let this boy ruin everything he had worked so hard on to keep together.

When this was all settled they could all take a trip to Italy, he had missed seeing the cheerful boy who had been raised in his household alongside the Holy Roman Empire. Feliciano's betrayal and subsequent reunification with his brother Lovino had broken Rodriech's heart. He was more or less used to the idea of a unified Italy now; they had been joined together for the past fifty years now. This was the first time the Italian peninsula was under one government since Roman Empire fell, something Rodriech only had hazy memories of, he had been so wild and savage back then. It was better not to dwell on such times.

Lazily he pushed the covers off of him, he had some meetings to attend to today, mostly with Gabrielo, if the boy would listen to him and his offers, there was no reason this cry for nationalism had to be met with violence. Rodriech would prefer to avoid that route if at all possible. Recently Russia had allied themselves with the Serbs for reasons that were hazy to Rodriech, something about being Slavs together. Rodriech was sure Ivan and Gabrielo had hardly met, Gabrielo being under the rule of Sadiq and before that Alexius before becoming his own country just to the south of his own empire. It all seemed rather silly to him, Gabrielo often pointed out this alliance to Rodreich whenever he met with the boy, but he was pretty sure that if push came to shove Gabrielo would be on his own, Ivan rarely cared for those that weren't his own. At least tomorrow was Sunday and that meant no meetings, at least not with Gabrielo. Tomorrow was saved for his own boss, well Franz Ferdinand wasn't his boss yet, but he would be one day, when Franz Joseph died.

Rodriech really didn't want Franz Ferdinand to come to Sarajevo; he felt it was too dangerous, too many revolutionaries in the city, but the man was insistent. Everything would go smoothly with the trip though, Rodriech was sure of it. The people wanted a country, yes, but it would be foolish of them to attack the heir to Austrian-Hungarian Empire. A small frown on his face, Rodriech began to grope around the nightstand for his thin, rectangular glasses. He didn't really want to think about anything going wrong with the Archduke's visit to Serbia, nothing would go wrong, everything would be fine. With a long sigh he swung his legs off the bed, it was taking him an awfully long time to get out of bed this morning, he noted to himself. He had a lot on his mind, felt uneasy all the sudden; he hoped it was just the lack of food in his stomach and the displeasure of having to go through these meetings with Gabrielo, again.

He picked his glasses up from the bedside table and slid them on his face. The world seemed a little less fuzzy now. He was one of the few nations unfortunate enough to have to wear spectacles, a human flaw in a person who could not always afford to be human. With a small groan he stood up and made his way over to the bathroom that was adjoined to his hotel room. He walked over to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face; he needed to wake up, to stop being so consumed in thought today. These worries were unnecessary; they would only make him look older faster. A humorous thought, Rodriech had looked to be in his early twenties since the sixteenth century, he half-hazardly wondered if he would ever look any older or if he would die one day looking like a young man. It didn't matter; it wasn't like he was going to die anytime soon. His nation was stable. He walked away from the mirror, pushing aside any thoughts about dying and left the bathroom to find his clothes to wear today.

He straightened the cream cravat he wore as he looked at himself in the mirror; he was supposed to meet Gabrielo in an hour. He would have just enough time to eat breakfast before it would commence, well he would if he could keep his mind from floating all over the place again. He needed to stay focused on what was ahead of him today, not all these what ifs that seemed to float around in his head. Why was he back to thinking about the Holy Roman Empire again? He hadn't really thought about the boy in such a long time, Ludwig was a totally different person now, doing whatever Prussia told him to do. He knew it would be a bad day if he had to think about the albino _shlampe _before breakfast, he still didn't get on well with his old rival even if they were really his only ally. Technically Italy and the Ottoman Empire were allied with him as well, but the only one he knew he could truly count on was Germany. How times had changed.

"Mister Edelstein, can I get you anything else?" the waiter at the hotel's restaurant asked in nearly impeccable German. Rodriech shook his head absorbed in the apple streusel he had ordered for breakfast, the flakey pastry was one of his favorite breakfast dishes. Elizaveth would smack him with one of her frying pans if she saw this, muttering in Hungarian that he needed some protein to go with the sugary dish. An argument that had happened many times in the early days of their marriage when she finally felt she was on equal footing with him to criticize his eating habits.

"I am fine, thank you." He said glancing down at the newspaper in front of him. There wasn't anything new to report really, not today. Stocks were doing well, that was always a plus, Rodriech didn't need a bad economy to go along with this mysterious feeling of dread that had been inside of him since he woke up this morning. Perhaps he should cancel the Archduke's trip here, go back to Vienna and Prague where Elizaveth was waiting for him as well as a mountain of paperwork. No, no he couldn't do that, not when the Archduke was already on his way from the capital. He took a deep breath, paranoia would get him nowhere in the world, he was better than this. He glanced back down at the newspaper again and began to read a short article about something that was going on across the ocean in North America, foreign names swirled around in his head as he attempted to read it: Pancho Villa, Huerta. He doesn't really pay too much attention to things going on across the ocean in the Americas, he never had any colonies over there to worry about and now days Alfred kept mostly to himself, butting in every once in a while about keeping China open and what not, and the other major one over there- what was his name again- was still part of Great Britain so Rodriech often just lumped him in with whatever Arthur was doing.

**London, England **

This wasn't splendid isolation; this was madness Arthur decided as he stepped out of his study, Rajesh and Johannes were bashing each other up with wooden swords in the living room with Kyle egging them on from the sidelines, his koala clinging onto him. Honestly weren't they getting to be a little too old to be doing that? Leon was in the corner playing with more of those explosives he had, hadn't Arthur taken away those fireworks yesterday? There were pencil markings on his wall and papers scattered all over the floor. This was madness, not the house he ran properly, where were the other colonies at? Where was Matthew, he was supposed to be watching them? He almost retreated back into his study not wanting to deal with the mess, but he was the British Empire, the largest empire in the world and he was not going to be chased out of his home by some children. Rather rowdy children. "Matthew!" He called sharply, usually Matthew dwelled in small home in Ottawa across the ocean in his own domain of Canada, but the soft spoken young man was here for a gathering of the colonies and domain, all had come except for one, Wallace, the island dominion by Australia had been troublesome at best about coming to these things. He was rather independent now that Arthur had granted him some sense of autonomy.

"Help!" He heard Matthew's quiet voice from the nearby closet. What had those boys done? He really shouldn't refer to some of them as boys anymore Kyle and Rajesh were getting a bit too old for him to be calling them that, though one wouldn't know it by the way they behaved. He hurried over and opened the door to find the blond tied up inside the small room to a chair. "Arthur, I'm sorry, I just- Leon distracted me and then the next thing I knew I was being forced into this chair." He looked unhurt to Arthur's relief. These young ones though were getting out of hand.

"It's okay, Matthew." Arthur reassured as he untied him. "I'll deal with them now." Matthew grimaced slightly. What was that about? He was master of the house, the children all resided in it and it was him who should deal out punishment.

"You don't have to, Arthur, it's not that big of a deal." Matthew protested, but Arthur shook his head, he was going to deal with this. He would not tolerate this kind of behavior from his colonies. Bang! Arthur rushed back into the hall to find the source of the noise. Black powder covered the entire living room now and everyone in it.

"Leon Wang Kirkland!" Arthur shouted, the boy's face was all black and it looked as if he had no eyebrows left now, singed off by the explosives. Kyle's koala was no longer on the boy's back and was making loud squawking type noises from the nearby curtains while the boy was on his back laughing along with Rajesh and Johannes. Arthur could feel his blood pressure rising as he looked at the mess that had once been his orderly house. Why today of all days? Why did they have to decide to destroy the house today? He was about to go on a tour of Europe tomorrow, it would be his first time leaving the young colonies alone since the Boar Wars. Matthew silently stood behind the British Empire watching in shock. "All four of you will clean this mess up, you will wash every bit of black powder and pencil off the walls. You will then take your mess back up to your rooms where you will spend the rest of the night quietly thinking about what you have done or so help me God!" He growled at all of them. The boys instantly stopped laughing as Arthur started to yell and watched him with fear in their eyes. "Matthew," he said turning back to the Dominion of Canada, "can you watch them?" The blond nodded his curl in the front of his hair bobbing as he did so. "Good." And Arthur retreated back to his study.

What was wrong with these fiends? They were hellions, every one of them. He let out a huge huff as he sat down at his desk and looked at all the paperwork he still had left to do. He couldn't do this right now, he needed some tea. He pushed the chair away from the desk and walked towards his small stove in the room that he used for heating when it was cold out and as a place to warm water for tea. Had he been this bad at their age? Alfred certainly had, but at that time it had only been him and Matthew, and the Canadian was so quiet that Arthur had forgotten he was there sometimes. Arthur tried to think back to when he had been a young teen like these boys were, that had been when? He thought back to being invading by the Vikings, raids that often included Lukas and Mattias along with them. How painful some of those raids had been. Then fighting with Alfred the Great, pushing back the invaders. Ah yes, those had been the days. He smiled to himself thinking about his own youth, he had been a little wild himself back then. And then Francis' invasion in 1066, well Francis had helped partake in the invasion even if it really hadn't been his people invading; they were more Mattias's people then Francis'. And the crusades, who could forget those? Arthur hadn't partaken in the first two; he had been trying to keep peace and unity when the first one broke out. But he had gone with Richard the Lionheart to retake the Holy Lands on the Third Crusade, though now, looking back, he wished he had stayed in England.

The kettle whistled, pulling Arthur out of his reverence of the past, not he hadn't been like these hellions, not one bit. Everything he had done had been out of survival and self-preservation, nothing more, nothing less. The world had been different back then, less civilized as the one they lived in today. Arthur nodded in agreement with his thoughts as he poured the boiling water into a small cup and dunked the tea bag into the steamy water. And he was king of the world, the largest empire in history, the sun never set on his empire, it spanned from the east to the west. It was glorious. He smirked as he lifted the tea cup to his mouth after letting the tea leaves stoop in the water for a few minutes. He dominated over his brothers, the ones who said he was weak once and would never amount to anything. Well he was the master now. He settled back into his chair and looked over at the mirror that he kept mostly for decoration in the office. His straw colored hair and green eyes were fresh and clean, freckles light dotted his nose, and he'd had a lot more when he was younger. He looked powerful, no longer the frightened child who had hidden in the woods from his older brothers, running to Francis for help all the time. He would never be powerless like that ever again.

"Do you feel it?" He whirled his head around to see Francis standing in the door way of the study. The Frenchman looked relaxed as he leaned against the frame; he was dressed in a light blue suit, one that might look gaudy on anyone but this particular Frenchman. Long golden hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail to keep the hair out of his face.

"Get out, Francis; I don't have time for your games." Arthur snapped, "Why are you here anyway?" He must have some reason, their lands were close, but the English Channel prevented Francis from just walking in whenever he so pleased. The channel had kept many would be attackers out including one of Francis's former bosses, Napoleon.

"I am here to pick you up for your tour of Europe." Francis said with a smile as he stepped into the room. "What did the boys do this time, I saw Mattheiu giving them buckets filled with soap and water." He walked up behind the chair and put his hands on Arthur's shoulders and began to rub. "So tense _mon cher_."

Arthur let out a small moan of pleasure before answering Francis's question. "They drew all over the walls and one of Leon's explosives went off and black powder covered them." Arthur grumbled, but his grumbles only seemed to make Francis laugh. "I thought you weren't coming with me, something about being too busy."

"I changed my mind." Francis murmured into Arthur's ear as he pressed down a little harder on his shoulders working out the kinks in it. Such a delicate touch, Arthur relished in it, one of the few good things that had come out of his entente with Francis was their relationship. They no longer fought the way they used to, though Francis did annoy the hell out of him most of the time, and they were friendlier then before, very friendlier. Arthur had invited the man to come on the trip around Europe a few months back only to have the Frenchman decline him.

"What made you change your mind?" Arthur asked leaning into the back of his chair slightly, he wanted to turn around and look into the man's sparkling blue eyes, but the menstruation to his shoulders felt too nice to stop.

"Can't you feel it, Arthur? Something's going to happen." Arthur frowned, he felt the uneasiness in the back of his mind most of the day, but he had really hadn't paid it much thought till Francis said something and that uneasiness wouldn't go away now that it was out in the open.

**St. Petersberg, Russia**

A young lady, dressed very lavishly in a cream ball gown, stood in front of a white door, swaying on her feet as she knocked with a small giggle. "Ivan, are you in there with Mister Alfred?" she asked. With a groan Ivan sat up looking over at the blond still sleeping beside him, Anastasia had the worst timing.

"_Da_, Mister Jones is catching up on his sleep." Ivan called back, correcting the young lady. She wasn't supposed to refer to Alfred by his first name, but the youngest daughter of the Tsar cared little for formalities of any kind. She had been a troublesome young lady much to the displeasure of her nurses as a child. To Ivan she reminded him of the young blond nation of the United States of America; he enjoyed her playful personality and warm smile. He loved all of the Tsar's children, as he had loved all the ones of the Tsar's before him. Ivan loved children, how warm they were, how they were not frightened of him like some of the other nations were. Alfred had children, they were not truly the man's children, but he took care of them, they represented his states. He actually hadn't met the two youngest yet, the representation of Hawaii, her name was Lilo and the other was the representation of Alaska, a massive territory that bordered Alfred's brother Matthew rather than Alfred himself; Alfred didn't talk about him much only that he was a baby at the moment. Ivan wouldn't mind meeting him, but Alfred refused so Ivan didn't bring up the idea very often.

"Shush, Ivan." Alfred murmured rolling over and staring up at the Russian nation with his big blue orbs, he looked so tired. "You're so loud." Ivan merely snorted at the thought, Alfred was the loud one, everyone knew that.

"It's time to get up, Alfred." Ivan said gently, "There's a party tonight and we must make an appearance." Alfred muttered something into the pillow. "What was that?" He asked sweetly.

"I said, you have to make an appearance. I can stay here in bed and sleep." Alfred said grumpily. Ivan gave Alfred a small smirk before bending over and lazily kissing the American's lips. "Ivan." Alfred groaned as the Russian drew back but the American wanted to continue the kiss. He sat up trying to reach the Russian's lips to kiss them again ignoring the teasing smirk on Ivan's face.

"Get up, Alfred; we can continue that after the party if you come." Ivan said getting up off the bed and walking over to the wardrobe where his formal attire hung, freshly laundered and pressed, a dark blue military uniform with many different medals hanging off of it. He walked behind the paper divider, a gift from his sister Natalya, so that in her words 'no one can see your handsome body when you change.' A thoughtful gift despite her scary words that had come with it, he loved his sisters, he really did, but sometimes they were too much for him. Both of them had gone a vacation to the Black Sea for the month and so Ivan had decided that it was safe for him to invite Alfred over. Natalya would not take his relationship with Alfred well, she still wanted to marry him and brandished a knife at any nation that got too close.

"Can we continue now?" Alfred asked standing just beside the divider, his cream colored sleep shirt coming down to his mid thighs as Ivan pulled on the navy blue pants. He winked suggestively at the Russian nation who felt blood rush to two areas in his body.

"After, Alfred." Ivan said pushing away any thoughts he had about what was hidden underneath the cream colored cotton. He didn't need to imagine too much as he had seen it time and time again. "Get dressed." He said with a hearty laugh as he pulled his pants up the rest of the way. Alfred made a cute pout face that almost made Ivan want to give in to the American, but he wasn't sure they'd have enough time before the party started to finish up and get dressed again. It was just safer to wait. "Alfred."

"Fine, fine." Alfred said turning his back to Ivan and raising the sleep shirt over his head so that Ivan got a good look at his ass. Ivan hummed a little as he buttoned up his under shirt, an old Russian ballet. "Is that Swan Lake I hear?" Alfred teased from where he was changing by the bed.

"Perhaps, _Fredeka_, it is." Ivan chuckled as he called his lover by a private nickname that was only used when they were alone.

"Cute, _Vanya_." Alfred said, emphasizing the last word, a Russian nickname for someone named Ivan. It was slightly demeaning, but he never saw it that way when Alfred used it. Alfred wouldn't use it spitefully. Ivan walked out from behind the divider to watch Alfred button up his jacket, fumbling slightly with a few of the golden buttons emblazoned with the seal of the United States of America.

"Navy blue looks good on you." Ivan commented with a small smile as he offered the American his arm. "Shall we depart?" Alfred nodded, linking his arms with Ivan's and leaving the bedroom.

The nation of Russia lived in the Winter Palace in one of the many guest residents; his own quarters consisted of a bedroom, private parlor, and a sitting room as well as a balcony with a beautiful view of the gardens below. Ivan greatly enjoyed it, though he could have done without the man that lived down the hall from him. A gaunt man, in Ivan's opinion, with a horse like face and shaggy black hair, Rasputin who was also was strolling down the hall to the grand ball room where tonight's party was to be. Grigori Rasputin was the supposed healer of Alexi, the only son of Tsar Nicholas, but like many others Ivan believed Rasputin was more to the Tsarina then was let on. He was not overly fond of the man; in fact some might even claim that he was hostile. "Good evening, Ivan, who is this young man?" Rasputin asked with a smile, a smile that Ivan knew was hiding a villainous plot.

"I am Alfred Jones." Alfred said unhooking his arm from Ivan's. "I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of meeting you before." Alfred gave the man a warm smile that he didn't deserve, and offered a hand to shake. Ivan almost flinched when Rasputin took it; he didn't want that vile man touching his sunflower.

"I am-" Rasputin started but Ivan cut him off.

"He is Alexi's healer," Ivan said, "Grigori Rasputin." He took Alfred's hand wanting to lead him away from the other man. Alfred gave him a puzzling look.

"It was nice to meet you, Mister Rasputin." Alfred said as he allowed Ivan to lead him away from him. He stopped when they had turned off the main hall and pulled Ivan into a small hall that only servants really used.

"What was that, Ivan?" Alfred hissed, a bit of anger showing through his dark blue eyes. "I wouldn't have minded talking to him."

"He is a con man, Alfred. A dangerous man who has wormed his way into a position in the court through lies and trickery, I do not want him near you." Ivan said quickly. "I did not mean to frighten you." Alfred narrowed his eyes at Ivan, giving the other nation a small glare. Ivan knew that Alfred did not appreciate him dictating whom Alfred spoke to or restraining him in any manner. The American nation didn't listen to anyone, except perhaps his boss on occasion, not since the war between him and Arthur. Ivan liked his free spirited nature; he guessed it was one of the many things that had attracted him to the younger nation so much. And unlike many of the other European nations he didn't see Alfred as backwater. It came from his own isolation; he had been controlled for many years by the Mongols known as the Golden Hoard. He had kept the rest of Europe from really getting to know Ivan and Ivan from getting to know them. When he had emerged from his isolation, he was behind, everyone else seemed light years ahead of him with colonizing the New World and their beautiful paintings and their Enlightenment period, he had tried to adopt many of the idea through Peter the Great but still Arthur and Francis saw him as a threat, well they had up until about ten years ago when he had been humiliated defeated by that island nation to his east, the upstart late to the game Japan.

Kiku seemed nice and polite, Ivan was well aware that Alfred got along great with him as did Arthur and many other nations. But he and Kiku argued over land, the young man was greedy, he wanted as much land as he could get a hold of, and he didn't use conventional warfare either with his surprise attack at Port McArthur in China had been any indication of Kiku's blatant ignorance of conventional warfare. For now Ivan was content to ignore him, keeping trade to a minimum, but distantly respecting the young man's hunger for more. His invasion of Korea a few years back and now occupation had seemed to sate the island nation for now. Ivan guessed that the only good thing that had come out of his war with the nation ten years ago was that he now was in alliances with France and England, and that the two other nations didn't regard him as a threat. He didn't like to be threatening; he really would prefer to get along with everybody.

"Hello Tino and Toris." Ivan said as he entered the ballroom to see the other two nations standing near the doors talking. They weren't really nations anymore, but they had been at one point in their lives, now they were just regions of his own territory now. He didn't see Feliks, the slightly annoying blond nation that followed Toris around everywhere and often crossed dressed; it must have been time for him to go to Prussia's household.

"Hello Mr. Branginsky, Mr. Jones." Toris said giving a slight bow to both of them. Alfred waved Toris off and gave him a bright smile.

"You can just call me Alfred you know, none of this Mr. Jones stuff. We're both nations." Alfred said with a small laugh, Ivan sucked in a breath. He wouldn't contradict Alfred, not now; he was still irritated over the whole thing with Rasputin.

"Hello Mr. Branginsky." Tino muttered more darkly, he and Ivan had never gotten along. Some of the people who lived in the area that would one day make up Ivan's northwestern border had gone on many raids against the Finns when Finland had been its own country before and even after it fell under Swedish rule. He had often offered Tino a chance to come to his house before the Swedes gave him up in 1809. Since then Tino had been hostile, Ivan was aware of the blonde's love for the Swedish nation, a towering man by the name of Berwald, but there was nothing he could do for the smaller man, a tsar long ago had forbidden him from ever seeing Berwald again. A sad tale, Berwald had never really fought back about the treaty just allowed Tino to be taken from him because it was the will of his people. It was dangerous to fall in love as a country, things could change in the blink of an eye that could turn you against the very people you love, but there was something inherently human about them as well, as nations craved the love and comfort of others. Love and comfort was something Ivan was sure they were going to need soon, if the feeling in the pit of his stomach was anything to judge by.

**Author's Note (the part of the story where the author writes a little note): Well I've hinted at this a few times in a few of my author's notes in other works. This is my big project that I have been working on. It's still the twenty-seventh here where I live so I felt apt to post this now. This story is being posted in commemorating the assassination of the Archduke which happened a hundred years ago tomorrow my time. I wanted to do something and so writing the war from the point of view of the nations seemed almost appropriate. I am hoping to have a chapter out every week, but I make no promises. I'm on break right now but I do have a busy work schedule and writing doesn't always happen when I want it to. **

**OC's and names that I've created:**

**Gabrielo: (Age 17) He represents what will become Yugosalavia but right now just the Serbian people. There are representation for all the countries who will come out of Yugoslavia when it breaks up but I felt that for this story that was too many characters to create and so I am sorry to anyone whom I might offend by just using Serbia.  
**

**Rajesh: (Age 15 or 16)India, I know Himaruya created an India in one of his Halloween comics (I believe) but he doesn't have a name so I found one. **

**Johannes: (Age 12 or 13) South Africa, his name is derived from the city Johannesburg. I deliberately didn't describe him because I wanted to leave him up to the reader's interpretation. Personally I think he is more of a mixed heritage with the Zulu tribe and the colonization, but that's my personal take.  
**

**Kyle: (Age 16 or 17) Australia, he doesn't have a name and I like Kyle.**

**Wallace: (Age 16 or 17) New Zealand, we don't actually see him but Arthur does mention him so I thought it apt to put him down here.**

**If you have any questions or concerns feel free to contact me by review or by private message. Please remember all flames are sacrificed to llama gods.**


	2. Chapter 2

World War One

Chapter Two: June 28, 1914

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its wonderful characters.

**Brandenburg, German Empire**

"Gilbert! Gilbert!" Ludwig shouted knocking on his brother's door, normally he would open it to wake his brother, but he was aware of the visitor his brother had and knew she would not want to be disturbed in such a manner. A small frown made its way onto his face as he thought about the woman, she shouldn't be here. If Rodriech ever found out- he was their only ally, they couldn't afford to lose him.

"Go away, West." He heard his brother shout back. "It's _Sonntag_." Ludwig huffed, just because it was a Sunday didn't' meant Gilbert or Mrs. Elizaveth should sleep till ten. He turned away from his brother's door to go back to the library to read again.

Gilbert groaned at his brother's intrusion, West always had been the more responsible of the two. He looked over at the sleeping woman next to him. Well she had been sleeping, now green eyes blearily were opening. "Rodriech?" she asked. Once, her calling him the Austrian's name would have cut him deeply, now it was only a minor irritation. "Gilbert." She corrected herself with realization. "I'm so sorry, Gilbert." Her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. She made a small groan as she sat up, keeping the blankets to her chest.

"Morning." Gilbert said looking outside the window to the bright June sun shining in. Something seemed off, Elizaveth wouldn't meet his eyes, and that made him irritated. She didn't love him, she never had. She had first started sleeping with him to get away from Rodriech and his prissy ways, leaving whenever he wasn't home. He'd complied, he had originally liked the idea of it being payback of some sorts, he and Rodriech hadn't gotten along for many years. Now though, now he felt no satisfaction from their nights together. There was no real point to it now.

"Gilbert, why are we doing this?" Elizaveth asked, her voice pulled Gilbert away from the window looking back to her. "Why are we here, together?" He groaned slightly as she asked him these impossible questions. Why was she asking him this now, after the deeds were done? Women, always so dramatic.

"Then leave, no one is forcing you to come." Gilbert snapped at her. He had no patience for her antics this morning. He felt tense for some reason, like a coil ready to spring, he had since he'd woken up to Ludwig's banging on the door. He took a deep breath counting to ten before speaking to the Hungarian again. "Perhaps we should stop these meetings; they are detrimental to both of us." Elizaveth nodded. She seemed almost relieved that he was the one suggesting that they end these meetings. Shouldn't that be him though, she'd been the one convincing him during one of these bouts of sex to ally with her and Rodriech in the League of the Three Emperors, that had fallen apart soon after but that hadn't been hers or Roddy's fault and had set the way for them to remain their allies up to now. The alliance had been quite the turn from his and Rodriech's century of war.

"Gilbert, I-" Elizaveth started to speak but Gilbert cut her off before she really could say anything.

"Do you love him?" he asked suddenly, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer, but it was too late to take the question back now.

"Sometimes." Elizaveth admitted, "He is a sweet man, but sometimes he can be stifling." Gilbert couldn't argue that, Rodriech often appeared as if he had a stick shoved up his ass. But poor Rodriech, he never thought he would say that, what a game she was playing with him. Rodriech loved Elizaveth, always had since they were kids, and he'd always been jealous of Gilbert when they were younger because of his easy friendship with the female nation. And Elizaveth was only playing with the Austrian's heart, almost cruelly in a way. "Do you understand?"

"He loves you." Gilbert said hoarsely, she nodded, she had always been aware of Rodriech's love for her, ignoring it most of the time, using it to her advantage when she saw fit. "You are a cruel woman." Her eyes narrowed at his words, he was glad he did not allow frying pans into his bedroom. Her jade eyes lit up with anger as she made her rebuttal against him.

"You're one to talk Beilshmidt, what about Ludwig. You've kept his identity a secret not only from him but from Feliciano and Rodriech as well, those who once cared for him. And Francis, he beats himself up thinking he killed the Holy Roman Empire, yet he lives. Why do you keep it a secret?" Gilbert rose ever so slightly to be taller than her. Why was it that whenever they argued his brother was brought up? She knew the secret of Ludwig's past. A secret not even Ludwig himself was aware of. The Holy Roman Empire had never adopted a human name. It wasn't all that necessary at his young age due to Rodriech really handling all formal events for the empire anyway. Close to the middle of the eighteenth century as he began to age faster, going from about ten, an age he'd appeared to be for the past two centuries to fifteen in two decades. He'd adopted the name Ludwig, but few had been aware of this as he had begun to distance himself from Rodreich, and aligning himself closer with Gilbert who was his enemy at the time.

In a battle with Francis, a battle he shouldn't have been at if he'd listened to both Gilbert and Rodriech, but the young teen hadn't listened and rushed into a battle against the other crazed nation. Francis was almost insane from a decade of the reign of terror and then having a power hungry emperor bent on conquering all of Europe. He had given an already weakened boy a good blow to the head. It had put Ludwig into a death like coma that only Arthur, a close friend of Gilbert's at the time, could pull him from at the price of his memories. Originally it had been only him and Arthur who knew of the truth until Elizaveth started to show up quite frequently, figured out the truth. Why she hadn't told Rodriech, Gilbert did not know, nor had she ever threatened to tell the Austrian nation during any of their fights.

"Go away, Héderváry, I don't need this from you first thing this morning." Elizaveth gave him a dirty look before pushing back the covers and sliding off the bed to put on a new set of clothes. Gilbert sighed, getting out of bed himself and slipping on a pair of trousers before leaving the bedroom for Elizaveth's privacy and heading to the kitchen where Ludwig was hopefully making breakfast.

"_Morgen_, West." Gilbert said affectionately rubbing Ludwig's blond head much to the younger man's chagrin. He was standing in front of the gas stove with a cast iron skillet cracking eggs.

"_Morgen_, Gilbert." Ludwig said. "Will Mrs. Elizaveth be joining us?" He was always distant right after Gilbert spent a night with her. Ludwig, Gilbert knew, did not approve of their actions. Ludwig was worried that it would ruin the alliance between their two empires, something that worried him far more than it should.

"Not sure, we fought a little bit." Gilbert admitted with a small shrug, it wasn't the first time. He picked up the potatoes Ludwig had put aside to be cut up and cooked in the skillet after the eggs were done.

"You two always fight a little." Ludwig snorted taking the spatula and scrambling the eggs slightly. Gilbert nodded as he began to dice the potatoes, enjoying the Sunday morning with his brother. Maybe later they could take a walk with the dogs around the fields out back behind the house. Go see the duck pond back there. A quiet day before the storm hit. What storm? Gilbert frowned, looking down to see that he had nicked his finger with the knife while cutting a potato. A sign? He put the knife down as he walked over to the small water basin to wash the blood off. He glanced up to the small clock that hung in the kitchen, 10:08.

"_Guten Morgen_, Ludwig." Elizaveth said cheerfully as she came into the kitchen in a fresh brown dress and a smile on her face. Her anger with Gilbert put behind her.

"_Morgen_ Mrs. Elizaveth." Ludwig said scooping eggs out of the skillet and onto a plate, just as Elizaveth gave out a loud shout before swaying on her feet. She would have probably fallen to the ground had she not reached out to grab the counter beside her.

"Oh dear, something's not right." She said as she leaned against the counter. The clock read 10:10.

**Sarajevo, Austro-Hungry **

A bomb! Someone had thrown a bomb at the Archduke's car, Rodriech seethed. If Gabrielo had been anywhere near the representative of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire at the time, Rodriech was not sure he would be able to control his actions. The old aristocrat persona he put up was fading away to the deeper blood lust of what he used to be. How dare the Serbians do this, attempting an assignation of his bosses, it was- it was. Rodriech shook with rage till the Sophia stepped back in from where the Archduke was talking with the governor after his speech on the steps of Town Hall.

"Are you okay, Rodriech?" She asked with a kind smile. She reminded Rodriech so much of Elizaveth, she had been on one important till Franz Ferdinand saw her on a tennis court one day and fell in love. Many of the court gossip that proliferated was about her and her low ranking birth, she'd been a Czech noble, but that wasn't good enough in the eyes of the Austrian elite.

He looked down to see his white, clenched knuckles and the small trail of blood from his pam where his trimmed nails had bit into him. Despite his rage he was trying to keep himself under control, he was not Gilbert after all; he could keep his emotions in check. Sometimes too in check it would seem, Elizaveth always pointed out his seeming lack of emotions during their many fights. How she sometimes saw him as little more than a moving statue. Her words had cut him deep, he had an outlet for all his pent up emotions. Music. Music was his outlet, where he could blow off the excess emotions that he did not wish to feel. Everything else could be manageable then. But he did not have a piano here to display his rage with, so his nails in the palm would have to suffice. The cuts would heal before the day was out.

"I am fine, Lady Sophia." He said with a forced smile. She had not inherited her husband's titles because of her birth, a compromised made when the Archduke married her, nor would any of their children inherit the Austrian throne, a shame really. "I am glad you and the Archduke are safe though." He opened his palm slightly, taking a deep breath, so he could assess the damage he had inflicted upon himself. Four small crescents had cut into his skin, but even know he could see them healing. They would close up by the end of the night and Elizaveth would be none the wiser. He didn't want her to start worrying over him.

"We are going out to see the men who were wounded in the bomb blast if you would like to come." The soft spoken woman offered. Rodriech wasn't sure he liked the idea of them leaving the City Hall so soon after the attack on their lives, but surely the danger was gone, two assassination attempts in the same day was impossible.

"That would be nice." Rodriech admitted, one of the governor's aids had been injured in the bombings as well as a few civilians watching the parade from the street corners. He pulled out his pocket watch, a gift from Vash a few years back for his birthday the sterling silver hands read 10:38, he should call Elizaveth when they got back to the hotel for lunch. She would know something had happened, she would be worried. And he would take the next train back to Vienna as he no longer wanted to stay here in Sarajevo. He doubted even the Archduke would spend the night now.

"Are we ready?" The governor, Oskar Potiorek, asked as he and the Archduke had just stepped out of the meeting room where they had been deciding what to do next. The Archduke had made a rather scathing comment during his speech to the people at the City Hall about being greeted with bombs and Rodriech was sure that the whole incident had now embarrassed the governor. It would have embarrassed Rodriech as well if he hadn't been as outraged about the assassination attempt as the Archduke was. Both Sophia and Rodriech stood up from the chairs they had been sitting in and nodded. The Archduke leaned over to kiss Sophia's cheek as they all followed the governor out of the building and back to the cars.

"Perhaps we should put the roof back on the cars before we depart." Rodriech suggested as he looked at the two black cars waiting out back, neither sporting a roof. Earlier they had made the argument that it was too nice a day to ride with the roofs on in the city, now Rodriech worried about safety. These two cars hadn't been damaged in the assignation attempt prior; the damage car had been left in the streets for the police to deal with as they had raced to get the Archduke and Lady Sophia to safety. The Archduke and the governor would ride in the first car; Rodriech would ride in the second as well as few guards.

"Nonsense, Rodriech," The Archduke said dismissively, he gave the country a hearty laugh before hooking his arm into Sophia's and walking down the steps of the City Hall. With a sigh Rodriech flipped open his pocket watch again to check the time, 10:41. He still had an uneasy feeling about this excursion. They should just stay here where they were safe.

The governor, Potoirek, climbed into the front seat of the car while the Archduke and Sophia were seated in the back seats. Rodriech climbed into the passenger seat of the car behind them, flipping his watch open again. 10:45 now, and he could hear the rumble of the cars starting, they were off. He took a deep breath, why was he so tense, the danger was over, he shouldn't have anything to worry about. He sat back in the seat, gripping it tightly, not really looking out the window, just thinking: about Elizaveth, about his home in Vienna and how he couldn't wait to return.

"We're not going the right way." The driver of Rodriech's car cursed a few minutes into their trip. "We're not supposed to go down Franz Joseph Street to go to the Goven-" The last part of the man's sentence was cut off by a loud bang and then another one simultaneously after followed by screams. Rodriech suddenly felt immense pain in his chest. He leapt out of the car, running to the car ahead of his. The Archduke! Already he could see police officers jumping onto someone in the streets. But Rodriech paid that little mind as he saw the shot to the abdomen the Archduke was suffering. He looked over to Sophia, blood was gushing out of her neck. Oh God, there was no way either one would survive this. Oh God, oh God. The pain began to well up more and more into his chest as he thought about the Archduke and his wife's impending deaths, but he pushed the panic to the side trying to focus on a way to somehow save the Archduke and Sophia. He could hear the Archduke speaking, but the words the man was saying went past him.

"Rodriech," the Archduke said with wheezing as he spoke pulling Rodriech's attention to him. "You must stay strong. Be good to Elizaveth." The Archduke told him as he stepped aside to allow the paramedics to take him. He wouldn't allow this to go unpunished. He felt his body sway, someone was shouting his name, but he couldn't tell who, as he fell to the ground, his chest burning in pain.

**Rome, Italy**

Romano Italy, known to most as Lovino Vargas, sat behind a desk in his home in Rome listening to the birds chirping through the open windows. There was a small stack of paper on his desk in his to-do pile, he needed to get started on it, but he would rather be out on the balcony overlooking the city of Rome listening to the birds chirp on this very nice summer's day. He twirled his very nice, expensive ink pen in between his fingers as he deliberated whether it was worth skipping out on paperwork today. He could catch up tomorrow at the office, but he had skipped mass today to work on it. He never skipped, this was a rarity of course, he almost never skipped mass what kind of Catholic would do that? But he also liked to keep the work he was supposed to do in check, do it the day it was due, not procrastinating, and the work had been overwhelming this week. He was doing the work of two now, if he skimped out on one day who knows how much he would have the next day. It wouldn't take long, he told himself, a half an hour max and then he'd be free to sip wine on the veranda listening to the birds chirp.

Lovino let out a sigh. The house was quiet, too quiet; he wished Feliciano was here with him again. What a strange wish from a brother who'd spent most of his life wishing his younger brother had never been born. He picked up the first paper; it was clipped to nearly all ten underneath it, a question from the King regarding a part of the economy. Did he have to be so wordy about everything; it didn't take ten pages to ask a single question. Lovino let out an irritated sigh as he flipped through the meticulously typed pages full of legal jargon and lengthy way of saying simple things. He did not appreciate the King's lesson in the many different ways of saying why without actually saying the word why. He flipped to the back page getting the gist of what the King wanted about four pages into it, the King had only left him about a paragraph's room to answer the question. He could feel his eyebrow twitching at the nerve of the man. Why had having a king been such a good idea? Fifty years of being a country and Lovino was ready to just drop it all like Feliciano had. He had a newfound respect for Antonio who had always done his work in the nearly two hundred years he was under his control without complaint, Lovino wasn't sure there were many countries who could say the same. Certainly not him.

He wrote out an appropriate response, trying to keep it short and curt. There was no reason for him to make it any longer than necessary though he was sure it would annoy the King like the elongated question had annoyed him. Plus it would be torture for him to write and he did not want to spend any more time in this stuffy house then was need be. The next document only needed his signature, a request for something to be built or something or the other he wasn't really paying all that much attention now to what he was reading

He glanced up and looked out the window; it was seriously too nice of a day to be sitting in his study doing paperwork. He wanted to be out amongst his tomatoes, they were fresh and ready to be picked, to take a look at the flowers he had planted in the pots, make sure they didn't need water. But he was stuck in here; he looked back down at his stack only a few more documents left to go. With a bit of a heavy heart he picked up the next document and got set on reading it.

"Mr. Vargas," His maid Maria knocked on the door, she was a human Lovino had employed to keep the house looking nice. A very nice young lady, she did a job well done at keeping the practically empty house looking lived in. Others might have suggested that he move into a nice town house closer to the heart of Rome where his government was, but this house on the edge of the city was where and Feliciano chose to live when they reunited fifty years ago and he did not want to give it up. "There's an urgent telegram for you." She walked over to his desk to place the envelope. Lovino let out a exasperated sigh, seriously what now, he had finished all his paperwork and was about ready to go out back and work in his gardens for the rest of the afternoon.

He took out the letter opener, not feeling like opening the yellow envelope himself, plus they were a devil to nails and slit the seal pulling out the official paper. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo at 10:59 this morning. Lovino looked over at the clock on the wall it was only eleven forty-three now, the telegraph must have gone out right away for him to have it now. "Maria, I need you to bring the telephone." There went his afternoon. Idly he wondered what effects this would have on the world as a whole; it would put the Austro-Hungarian Empire in a tizzy for a little while as they would demand retribution for the assassination of the heir to the throne, Lovino was sure they had a line of succession so there wouldn't be that problem. They might even wage a small war against the Serbians, not that the Serbs would actually win. This incident wouldn't blow out of proportion would it? That would be stupid move on everyone's part.

**Danzig, German Empire**

Feliks yawned as he walked out of the cathedral, the service had been good, not one of the priests best, but still rather good. Church was something few countries still went to, many didn't see the point in a god, not when they had experienced so much pain and suffering because of them. But Feliks had gone since his country had been spared the Black Death, well for the most part. He had not experienced the pain the other countries had experienced when the disease had swept through their lands. He had considered it like a blessing from God and had continued to go to church even after the other countries had long stopped. Only the Italy brothers seemed to be more like devout then him, they did have the Vatican there in the heart of their country. Rumor was that the younger one had shirked his role of being a country to become a monk, no one had seen him in a few decades. Feliks really wouldn't know though when other countries disappeared or not, not if they weren't in the Russian or German Empire at least. His lands were divided between the two, and he spent half the year in Moscow or Warsaw depending on where he was needed the most and the other half in Danzig, Gilbert didn't like having him in Berlin, whatever. He liked Danzig better than Berlin anyway.

"Dzień dobry." Feliks said to the baker's wife as he passed by her on his way back home. A very nice lady, he liked to come into her husband's bakery to buy bread and other sweets while he was living in Danzig.

"Dzień dobry, Feliks. How are you today?" She said stopping to talk to him. He gave her his best false smile and straightened the suit he felt rather uncomfortable in. He wished he could wear one of his dresses, Gilbert wasn't fond of him cross-dressing though and people in the Cathedral knew he was male.

"I- I am well." Well, that hardly described how he was. Physically he was well, he wasn't lying to her. But mentally he wanted to be back in Moscow with Toris, he wanted to make sure that his brunette friend (and former lover) wasn't pursuing after that she demon anymore. Natalia would break his heart; she only had eyes for her brother. He liked Danzig well enough, but his home was in Warsaw, his former capital, Danzig had changed so much that he hardly recognized it as a Polish city sometimes. He wondered if Gilbert forced him to live in this city to remind him that he was controlled by the Germans, no, Gilbert could be cruel, but they hadn't quarreled in over a century and the last time they'd spoken it had been quite civil. No doubts Gilbert had asked him to make this city his place of residence because of its proximity to Berlin and Königsberg.

"Well, it was good seeing you again." The baker's wife said and began to walk away from him. Had he really zoned out in front of her like that? Not cool. With a sigh Feliks began his walk back to his residents; he still couldn't find it in himself to call it a home yet despite his many stays here.

"Mr. Lukasiewicz," one of the maids said, "There's a message for you from Berlin. Mr. Beilschmidt said to call him as soon as you could, that it was extremely urgent." Feliks wanted to sigh in front of her, but couldn't that wouldn't be proper or something. Whatever. He walked up stairs to his study, shutting the door behind him. He didn't usually have too much paperwork to do, whatever Gilbert delegated to him to do, mostly about the Polish people living in the German empire, and so his study was full of manikins for the dresses he was working on.

"Operator, where can I connect you?" The operator asked, a high pitched female who sounded bored out of her mind.

"Berlin please, special code 1742." The code was for nations, it would ensure that he would get connected to Gilbert without going through a whole bunch of hoops.

"One moment please." Feliks nodded to himself and looked around his study, he had three manikins set up on the other side of the room, one only had a caged hoop skirt on it, the other two had bits and pieces of two different dresses put together. After whatever Gilbert had to say to him he would work on his dresses.

"Feliks, are you there?" Gilbert's voice asked over the phone, it crackled a bit with the connection but was otherwise clear.

"Like, what is it that you want?" Feliks asked trying to sound irritable, he wasn't really, but he didn't want Gilbert to know that.

"You might want to sit down for this." Feliks frowned, what news could Gilbert be giving him that was this big? He sat down on his desk for good measure instead of his chair. "An hour ago the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of the Austro-Hungarian Empire was shot dead in a motorcade along with his wife the Archduchess Sophia in Sarajevo." Oh no. Elizaveth, how was she doing? The representative of the Magyars had been a dear friend of his while growing up.

"Does this mean what I think it might mean?" Feliks asked quietly, would this assassination lead to the war Gilbert wanted? Feliks looked up at his map of Europe on the wall. Only the Serbs would have killed the Archduke in Sarajevo, they were unhappy about the empire's control over the region. And the Serbs were allied with –Feliks swallowed what spit was left in his mouth- Russia. If Austria went to war with Serbia, chances were that Russia would declare war on Austria, which would mean Germany would then more than likely declare war on Russia because Germany and the Austro-Hungarian Empire were each other's only allies, which would then pull in France because no one could fight Germany without France getting involved. A war between Germany and Russia though meant fighting on his lands; he was split between the two empires. If this had happened a few days ago he would be fighting with Ivan and Toris not against them.

"I need to know that you will stay with us, Feliks, that you won't turn coat because all your friends are on the other side." Gilbert's voice was serious as Feliks had ever heard it, no hint of his playful mirth and witty banter they both usually sent back and forth to each other. Would he turn coat, would he see Toris on the battlefield and lay down his weapon unable to fight him? He wasn't sure. He wouldn't know until he was there on the battlefield facing down Toris.

"Gilbert, you like know me better than that." He tried to make his tone lighter then he felt. He felt as if a rock had just entered his stomach and was grinding up everything he'd eaten for breakfast that morning as hard as possible. He was filled with dread for the future. Europe had been practically dying to go to war with one another for the past twenty years, and now, now they had the opportunity they'd always wanted.

**Author's Note (The part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): Here we are again, at the end of Chapter Two. I really want to thank my readers, you guys are great. Tell me what you think if you like if you don't like it, feedback is welcomed as well as constructive criticism. If you want translations for anything let me know. Thanks for reading, don't forget to review. **


	3. Chapter 3

World War One

Chapter Three: June 30- July 6, 1914

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

**June 30; Geneva, Switzerland**

The trip from Oslo to Geneva was a long one; he'd had to leave almost as soon as he got the telegram to make sure he would arrive at the meeting on time. A ferry ride from Norway to the main land of Europe in Germany and then a train ride down from there. Lukas sighed, he wasn't the first one in the conference room, Vash and Monique were sitting to one side, the neutral side as the case probably was. Vash was always neutral, and Monique wasn't big enough to really do anything that truly did not involve Monaco. "Good morning, Lukas." Vash said, Lukas nodded in return sitting across from the other two countries. "How was your trip?"

"I can remember when it used to take two weeks in horse carriage and boat from Copenhagen to Geneva, two days is not so bad." Lukas admitted, "Though this is rather sudden to be having a meeting, I doubt countries like America or Brazil will be able to join us."

"Actually, we're in luck, Alfred was in Russia when the assassination happened, he will be traveling here with Ivan." Monique said. Lukas wasn't so sure they would be lucky that Alfred would be there, the former British colony had a reputation of being brash and loud. Two things Lukas had tried to avoid in the past century.

The door opened again, this time a worn out looking Kingdom of Serbia better known as Gabrielo stepped in. Lukas wasn't sure what exactly he thought of the small nation. Serbia had caused a lot of issues for the Austro-Hungarian Empire even before this incident, but he also could sympathize with the want of having one's people united under one nation. Hadn't his nation undergone the same thing nearly a millennium ago? Had it really been that long ago? He looked tired; he probably hadn't slept all weekend either. He took a spot at the far end of the table away from the trio who were sitting in the middle, not saying a word to any of them. Vash looked down at his pocket watch.

"A half hour till the meeting starts. I need to step outside for a bit." Lukas and Monique nodded. As Vash reached the door it opened and in the door way stood the spikey haired nation of Denmark. Lukas had been hoping Mattias would be late, Mattias was always late, he had even been late to his own funeral once. So why was he here thirty minutes early to a meeting?

"Vash." He acknowledged the shorter man as he walked out of the room.

"Good morning, Mattias." Vash replied curtly as he left.

"Mattias." Said a voice from behind the Dane, Lukas raised his eyebrows in amusement; very few said the Dane's name with joy anymore. The Danish nation kept out of world affairs lately, he didn't even have colonies beside Iceland and Greenland.

"Gilbert." Mattias said curtly as the slightly shorter albino Prussian stepped into the door way beside his northern neighbor. His tone was less friendly then the albino's had been.

"You still angry about the-"  
"I wo'ld s'ggest ya m've, G'lbert." The taller Swede said as he too walked up. Beside him Lukas could see Ivan and Alfred who were chatting away about something. Those two were close, closer than one would expect two nations to normally be who hadn't grown up together. It didn't really concern Lukas all that much, nations could do what they pleased, especially when they were powerful ones like Alfred was.

"Good morning Berwald." Mattias said, "Alfred, Ivan." He nodded to each one of them as he spoke. "Say Ivan, how's little Tino doing?" Lukas watched as Berwald tensed at the mention of the smaller Finnish man who had been under Russian rule for a little over a century now after being under Swedish rule for seven centuries. Seriously did Mattias have to pick at old wounds so much? He knew Berwald and Mattias did not get along, they probably never would, but what good was it to make jibes at one another so much?

"He's doing well." It was Alfred who responded not Ivan. The American smiled at both Mattias and Berwald. "In fact he was at the Tsar's party last Saturday and we chatted for a little while." Lukas couldn't tell if Alfred was just that much of an idiot or if he was genius who acted like an idiot. But he watched quietly as the tension that had built up in Berwald's shoulders since the mention of the Finn's name disappeared. Berwald pushed past Gilbert and Mattias to sit beside Lukas.

"Are you okay?" Lukas asked in a hushed tone to Berwald while glaring at Mattias, the Dane caught the look Lukas was shooting him and returned it with a dark look of his own. He then moved to sit with Alfred and Ivan though the Russian Empire looked like he wanted to protest the Dane sitting with them Alfred cut him off with a look. They could be good friends those two, Lukas decided as he watched them talk, both were brash and loud and didn't think things out before acting.

"Wh't a m'ss o'r f'mily t'rned 'nto." Berwald said, he was also looking in the direction of Mattias and the other two more powerful countries. Lukas wondered what his friend was talking about more Mattias's separation from them or that Tino was under Ivan's control, or maybe it was a mix of the two. Lukas had grown up with the tall gentle Swede and the loud and boisterous Dane for most of his life. All three had gone on Vikings together, all three's monarchies had been tied together for a while before coming under the Kalmar Union under one monarch.

"He should have thought more about that family he wanted before he let the power get to his head and gave us up." Lukas said bitterly turning back to watch the door no longer wishing to watch his old friend anymore. Who cared what the Dane did with his messed up life anymore, Lukas really wanted no part in it.

Gilbert he noted was sitting completely other side of the table from Ivan, Alfred, and Mattias who were sitting closer to Gabrielo. Probably because of Ivan's alliance with the Serbian nation. Already alliances were beginning to sit together, though Alfred had no alliance with any country here. He stayed out of European affairs for the most part, Lukas doubted the loudmouth nation would have shown up to the World Meeting if he hadn't already been on the continent visiting Ivan.

"'re ya st'll m'd at 'im f'r Vi'nna?" Berwald asked. Mad at whom? Alfred? Why would he be mad at- Oh. Wait. Berwald was still talking about Mattias. Lukas looked back over at the Dane who was now laughing at something Alfred was saying to him. Was he still mad at Mattias for letting him go a century ago, breaking their union they'd had for nearly three centuries? Yes. He should have fought harder for Lukas, should have done something, anything to keep them together. He had claimed to love him, and if he had why hadn't he fought so hard to keep them together? He was mad that Mattias still had Emil under his control, he had been separated from his own brother, and the Dane made no efforts to ever let Emil have his own independence and freedom. It had been Lukas who had found Iceland, Lukas who had done a good part in raising Emil to the young man he was today. But it was Mattias who still retained control over him, who did not let Emil see Lukas for whatever sick reasons the Danish nation had.

"Yes." He said. Berwald gave a small nod and turned away from the trio as well choosing to stare blankly at the wall. The taller nation did not make friends easily, and his friendliness had all but disappeared after Tino was taken under Russian rule. About the only countries he talked to now days was Lukas, Arthur, and Gilbert on occasion because of the nature of the steel trade between Sweden and the German Empire.

Lukas watched as an extremely weary looking Rodriech made his way into the room. He did not look like the dignified aristocrat Lukas had always seen him as before. He looked more wild, there was a look in the pianist purple eyes that made him seem more dangerous. Lukas had never partaken in a war when Austria was a participant, though Mattias had once mentioned that the Austrian could be a fierce warrior when he wanted to be. He glared at Gabrielo, but the Serbian Kingdom did not seem to be paying the bigger power any mind. Behind Rodriech was a slightly less tired looking Elizaveth, his wife and the representation of the Magyars. Both of them sat beside Gilbert. Lukas let out a sigh, things did not seem to be shaping up in a peaceful way and two of the biggest players had not shown up yet.

In fact more and more nations were filling the conference room; Herakles had now shown up, he seemed to be sitting closer to the side with Gabrielo then the side with Rodriech and Gilbert. The nation of Montenegro, and the nation of Albania, Lukas could not remember their names sat beside Gabrielo, even Vladamir and Borris were sitting near their Serbian brethren. Lukas couldn't say he knew the Balkan countries rather well yet, most of them had only become countries quite recently due to the decline of the Ottoman Empire, and he had never really had contact with any of them before. But it would seem to Lukas they were putting up a united front when it came to where their loyalties lay in this disagreement.

Antonio and Sadiq had shown up as well, Antonio opting to sit next to Monique who sat diagonally from Lukas, so he had chosen the neutral area as well. Made sense, Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert were best friends, or had been before Francis and Gilbert began to hate each other after the fall of the Holy Roman Empire. Since then Antonio had tried to stay out of all their disagreements opting to become neutral before having to choose one of his friends over the other. It had strained his relations with both nations but Antonio's smile did not have seemed to have diminished. "_Hola, mi amigos_." He said to both Berwald and Lukas. "_Beunos dias_, Monique."

"Hello Antonio, how are you this morning?" Monique asked politely as both Lukas and Berwald grunted back replies. Lukas did not want to be rude to the Spanish nation, he was going through some difficult times, but at the same time Antonio annoyed him with his chipper personality and his smiling all the time.

"Worried." Antonio answered, his face losing his smile and became quite serious, it was the first time Lukas believed he had seen that side of the Spaniard. "Rodriech has been injured by this recent assassination, and he does not take kindly to foreign nations killing his leaders. He will not allow those he feels responsible, which is Gabrielo in this case, to go unpunished. Though I hope this will stay a regional war, and God have mercy on the souls that will descend into his realm, but I pray that it stays there and does not become a European war, for all our sakes." Lukas blinked in surprise; Antonio had put some thought into this. He obviously knew all the key players very well; he had once been married to Rodriech, was best friends with Francis and Gilbert and had once been rivals of Arthur's. He knew how they acted, how they thought, if anyone could determine how this incident might play out it would be him.

"Ne'trality is o'r b'st co'rse 'f acti'n n'w." Berwald mumbled.

"Nothing is going to get decided at this meeting anyway." Lukas said, everything would happen in back room deals and private phone calls not here in a conference room. These conferences were farces, a way to bring all the nations together so they could bicker some more. Their leaders did not even meet like this on a regular basis.

"Good morning." A cheerful feminine voice rang out; Lukas looked up to see Belle and Lars standing behind Monique and Antonio. "Do you mind if we sit beside you, Lukas, Berwald?" she asked with a wide smile.

"It is nice to see you again, Belle, Lars." Antonio said, once they had lived in his house, and things between Antonio and Lars had been tense until quite recently when Lars realized that Antonio no longer held any amount of power and there was no need to be tense around him all the time, he wasn't going to take them back. A fallen empire who tried to touch the sun and found that it burned him in the process. Like Mattias, a quieter voice in his head whispered, but he attempted to ignore it.

The two siblings sat down beside Lukas just as Vash reentered the room. He glanced around, Lukas knew that not too many were missing now and the meeting should be coming to a start anytime now. He sat down beside Monique and looked over at everyone who was now sitting in the area. "So we are just waiting on Lovino, Arthur, and Francis then." Vash said with a frown. "What do you think is holding them up?"

"They're probably fighting." Antonio said, Monique nodded. Just then Lovino walked in, took a sweeping look of how the table was set up and then sat down beside Antonio. "Lovi!" The Spanish nation almost squealed.

"Don't call me that." Lovnio snapped back. "It's Lovino or Mr. Vargas." Lukas watched the couple with some amusement. Lovino had been rebuffing the Spanish nation's attention for years now, Antonio just never quit.

"_Lo siento, _Lovino." Antonio said quietly.

"You're a right fucken bastard, you know that!" the shouting came from outside in the hallway. "I don't why I put up with you half the time anymore, Francis!" It was Arthur that was shouting, he either did not care that every nation at the conference could hear him, or he had not realized that they had arrived at the conference room doors. The glorious British Empire that Lukas knew would not have dignified himself to shout or curse. It would have been ungentlemanly of him. Seriously was he now being snarky in his own head?

"Calm down, Arthur, or all of Europe will know you're having a domestic with me." Francis said mockingly as he opened the doors the conference room. Arthur stood in the doorway in shock, and Francis smugly walked in taking a seat next to Ivan. Beside Arthur stood another blond man Lukas did not know, one of Arthur's colonies maybe? He had so many of them, Lukas wondered how he kept track of them all.

"Hey Mattie, wasn't expecting to see you here." Alfred said, the blond man beside Arthur smiled at the American nation and waved. Arthur pulled along the taller nation to sit more by themselves in between the neutral nations and Francis, Ivan, and Alfred.

"Everyone is here then?" Vash said standing up and looking around. "Alright then the June thirtieth conference of 1914 begins. Today's topic is the recent assassination of the Austrian heir to the throne, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand." Both Rodriech and Gabrielo jumped up to their feet, the madness would now descend.

**July 4, 1914; Berlin, German Empire**

"_Geh nach hölle, schlampe!_" Gilbert shouted before violently throwing the ear piece of the phone back on its hook. His brother who sat across from him at the desk let out a small sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Did you have to say that to Francis?" Ludwig asked irritably. Gilbert rolled his eyes, he knew Ludwig was tense because Rodriech and Elizaveth were coming to visit the office in ten minutes and they both knew what the husband and wife wanted. Support, the German Empire's full support no matter what happened. The war that Gilbert had been waiting for, for quite some time was now upon them and he would be able to defeat that French bastard once and for all. It would be a short war with Francis, he would prove to that. He would extract his revenge on Francis, more revenge then that he had dealt during the Franco-Prussian War forty years prior.

"Yes." Gilbert said indigently. Crossing his arms and shaking his head to get some of his white hair out of his face. "I will make him suffer like he has made me suffer." Ludwig gave him a blank face look. "He nearly killed you, Ludwig, I nearly lost you. I won't let him ever do that again."

"A century ago, _bruder_, you almost lost me a century ago." Ludwig protested. "Mrs. Elizaveth told me stories about how you and Francis once were good friends, how you fought together against her and Rodriech." Gilbert frowned, when had Elizaveth told him those stories? "I am still here, I am okay." You have no memory before 1814, Gilbert wanted to protest, but could not find the voice to do so. He knew Ludwig was okay, he knew that, but there was still a part of him who wanted retribution for the Holy Roman Empire, for the young boy who should not have been out on that battle field, whom Francis should not have struck down so hard.

"He is a threat to our superiority, Ludwig. He is jealous of our empire, of the Deutschland Kaiserreich that we have worked so hard to create. He would have us torn apart again, two separate entities. We should be one. He would take Alsace and Lorraine, our land that we won." He could shake Ludwig for being so blind, why was he voicing dissent now? After so many years of careful planning, of working out to the exact detail how the next European war would be, Ludwig wanted to back out now, now that the fruits of their labor, of so many strategist's labor. No, Gilbert would not allow his _Bruderchen_, to lose his spine now.

"_Herrs Beilschmidt, ihren Besucher sind hier_." One of Gilbert and Ludwig's aides said. So Elizaveth and Rodriech had arrived, this would be the first time Rodriech would see Ludwig in a personal meeting without some kind of formal event going on at the same time. Gilbert had kept Ludwig's contact with other countries to a minimum; it was he that did most of the work for the _Kaiserreich_. He did not want Ludwig to know all the work that went into being a country. All the sacrifices one had to make when one made friend with neighboring countries. Like his friendship with Francis.

"_Lass Sie in_." Gilbert ordered, he stood up and walked around the desk that Ludwig was sitting in front of. This meeting was going to more trouble than it was worth. He would make snide comments at Rodriech, Elizaveth would threaten him with that damnable frying pan of hers, Ludwig would sigh a lot and tell him to control himself, and they would have to take them out to dinner afterwards.

Ludwig stood up as well; he looked over at Gilbert with a small frown. "Just remember what I've said." Then his face became blank taking on Ludwig's perfected stoic face that not even he could read sometimes, and Ludwig had always been an open book to him. He hated when he couldn't tell what Ludwig was thinking, he had been such an easy teenager to raise, had been such an easy going kid that Gilbert had enjoyed stealing away from Rodriech and taking him out for picnics on the Rhine.

"I will, jeesh Luddy, it's not like I have plans to take over the world or something. I just want to knock Franny off his high horse." Gilbert mumbled. Ever since that Corsican had taken control of Francis, he thought he could walk all over Europe, consequences be damned. Besides Gilbert was going to prove once and for all that he had the better empire, and he did not need fifty million colonies all over the world to obtain it.

"Thank you Gilbert, for meeting us on such short notice." Rodriech said as the aide lead the couple into Gilbert and Ludwig's office not even allowing the aide to introduce them like normal. The aide looked a bit put out by Rodriech's apparent rudeness, Gilbert raised an eyebrow at the Austrian's out of characterness but didn't ask.

"Thank you Hans, for leading them here. You are dismissed." The young Lieutenant nodded, clicked his heels and then walked out of the room shutting the doors behind him. The nations would not be disturbed. Gilbert turned back to the couple who were now seating themselves in the seats they had prepared. "Elizaveth, _Prinzessin_." Rodriech bristled at Gilbert's jibe but said nothing. Ludwig had already begun the eye rolling. "How can we help you two today."

"Well I am sure you have some clue why we might have come to you after the events of last week." Rodriech snapped, he was a bit worked up, not at all the calm aristocrat he almost always portrayed. Gilbert and Ludwig nodded; they had known since the World Meeting that this conversation would take place. Both empires found themselves in a precarious position as each other's only ally. It was not something Gilbert liked to admit, but he was just as much at Rodriech's mercy as Rodriech was at his. His and Bismarck's plans to isolate France had gone out the window when that pathetic excuse for a Prussian Wilhelm had taken over the throne.

"I am aware. You wish to punish Serbia and Gabrielo for the actions of last weekend." Gilbert said hardly batting an eye. "But if you were to wage war on Serbia you risk angering Russia who may or may not intervene on Serbia's behalf. Who knows with that lavender eyed bastard his moods change as easily as the weather does. You cannot wage war against both Russia and Serbia; it would spell your doom."

"Gilbert, is this really necessary?" Elizaveth asked looking a bit annoyed at Gilbert's long winded explanation of what everyone in this room already knew.

"You want to know if Ludwig and I will back you? Will give you our full support no matter what happens."

"Yes, that is what we want." Rodriech said.

"This is something that the Kaiser will have to decide." Ludwig said. "Though I cannot see why he would decline such support. You have his condolences for the death of the Archduke, as you do Gilbert and mine. I am sure my brother forgot to mention such things on Monday's meeting in Geneva." Rodriech gave him a funny look, but if he had anything to say about Ludwig he kept it to himself much to Gilbert's relief. The last thing he need right now was an inquiry by Rodriech into Ludwig's past.

"You are right; Gilbert did not give us his condolences at Monday's meeting." Rodriech said, his voice tightened, he was back in aristocrat mood. "Such a polite young man you've raised, Gilbert. Not at all like you were at his age." Gilbert laughed, throwing his head back.

"Yeah, I was quite the little shit, wasn't I?" His laugh ended with a grin that bared his teeth giving the albino a wild look to him.

"If that is how you want to describe yourself back then." Rodriech replied with a snort, Gilbert ignored him. Rodriech had always been jealous of how awesome he'd been back then, was still. With Antonio and Francis at his side there wasn't anyone who could knock him down. He'd been an army with a country, the greatest military might in the world. Invincible. And he'd been a lot happier with some aspects of his life. He was still a great military power; that upstart Arthur might have the better navy, but he would show that pathetic island- that had once been his friend a voice in the back of his mind reminded him- that he was the better country, that an army was worth more than a navy. "Arrogant asshole with just as egocentric friends is probably a better description."

"Are you still sore over Silesia?" Gilbert teased, earning himself a warning look from his brother and an annoyed look from Elizaveth.

"_Nein_." Rodriech said, "It is history is it not. Besides, we are allies now, I doubt I will have to worry about the 'Bad Touch Trio' trying to seize my- how did you put it so vulgarly back then- vital regions?" Gilbert ignored what he considered Rodriech's pathetic attempt at a stab back. He wasn't going to show the stuck up bastard how much he missed gallivanting around Europe with Tony and Frannie, besides he was still mad at Francis about Ludwig. The past was the past, he was Rodreich's ally now not Francis's, not Antonio's. What would that Gilbert with his budding empire thought about him now, would he understand why he'd given up his friendships for his little brother, why Rodriech was the better choice for an ally anyway, he was of Germanic blood, brothers of a sort. They had to stick together. You once called Francis and Antonio brothers as well the 'back of the head voice' reminded him, he didn't like this voice, it reminded him too much of Ludwig.

**July 6; Vienna, Austro-Hungarian Empire**

He lay beside her with a serene expression on his face, it was the most peaceful he'd looked since the assassination. The Archduke's death had hit him hard, it wasn't the first time he'd had leaders' assassinated, but it was the first time it had happened right in front of him. Elizaveth rubbed a hand through his chocolate brown hair careful not to wake him. She would need to get dressed soon, the maids would be in soon to draw back the curtains and awake Rodriech, they had forgotten to tell the maids not to disturb them. Well not forgotten so much as she had practically jumped him last night, telling him he needed to relax, that she wanted to help him anyway she could and he had broken down in her arms last night. One thing had led to another. He was a rather handsome man once he let his guard down. Gilbert's question from last week plagued her, did she love him?

She didn't know. She had known Rodriech since they were young children, she had thought she was a boy back then, so had Rodriech and Gilbert. She had loved them both once upon a time, they were both so very different from each other, and yet so very much alike. Then she had gone to live with Sadiq and his empire. Rodriech married Antonio, and Gilbert revealed himself to prefer the company of men. His love affair with Fredrick the Great had been kind of obvious to those who paid attention. Then Rodriech rescued her from Sadiq, even though Sadiq really hadn't been all that cruel, and she lived with him ever since. They had only married a little less than half a century ago. She had always been enamored by him, the way he carried himself, the way he could play such beautiful music, how sure he always seemed. But she didn't know if it was love. She hadn't loved Gilbert; he had been a means to escape everything, friends with benefits more than anything. Her relationship with the albino nation always had been complicated. Well at least she wasn't the one keeping Europe's largest secret and destroying every friendship he'd ever had. One day Gilbert Beilschmidt was going to dig himself a hole that would be too deep for him to get out of, and she wanted to be there to watch when it did happen. In fact she wanted front row seats to it.

"_Guten morgen, Liebling_." Rodriech murmured as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. _Liebling_, favorite, lover, it had many different meanings, but it was a term of affection, it was a term of love. Rodriech loved her; she had known this for many years, centuries even. He'd had a crush on her since he found out she was a girl. Gilbert had teased him mercilessly for it too. And yet she did not know whether or not that affection was returned or not, the heart it seemed was a fickle thing.

"Good morning, Rodriech." She said back leaning down to kiss him. _You are a cruel woman_, Gilbert's words rang through her head as she kissed him, she pulled back rather fast and kept the sheets close to her chest trying not to feel guilty. Cruel. It seemed rather cruel of her to play with Rodreich's heart like she did, but when one grew up in the many years that she had, playing the many games of courts; one learned how to be cruel. She hadn't been able to make many decisions about her future, about her own life, she played the game and she played it with an intent to survive. The Magyars would not be the first people to be swallowed up by other groups simply because they're representative could not play the game. In the end her feelings did not matter, not even now, when the world had become much more civilized. Women still had little say in their own lives.

"We will be needed in the German Embassy today. Kaiser Wilhelm's telegram should be coming. Gilbert is many things but he has always been a man of his word." Rodriech sighed, he looked weary once again. He never liked war, and now that his anger over the incident had subsided Rodriech seemed very wary over the outcomes of what their actions would bring. Gilbert wanted war, he was hungry for war, had been for some time. It was actually rather shocking that his war mongering would be aimed at France; Francis was once one of his closest friends. They had been brothers almost. Guess he didn't need Francis and Antonio now that he had Ludwig at his side.

"You want me to come with you?" Rodriech often handled things pertaining to the empire by himself, it was why he was in Sarajevo by himself last week. He felt that it was undignified for a lady to get involved in politics. Thought she should be back home doing lady stuff. That's why she'd gone to Gilbert in the first place, no matter how much of an asshole he could be he never thought she was only fit for 'lady stuff.'

"Elizaveth, I don't think I would have made it this past week without you. Franz and Sophia were my friends, I was so looking forward to their reign, to the peace it would bring Austria. He could have solved our issues with Serbia, we could have had peace. And now- now that dream is gone. I need you here, with me, by my side. Right now you're the only thing keeping me going."

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Rodriech. Gilbert always said that." Her husband's eyes narrowed slightly at the flippant mention of their ally and his former rival. "We should get dressed; the maid should be in any moment." Rodriech leaned up to kiss her again.

"No matter what Elizaveth, I want you to know that I love you." He whispered before rolling out of bed. Damn him sometimes, he was the only person in the world who could make her feel this guilty. She was a hardened soul, a warrior, and yet Rodriech was making her feel like scum of the earth right now without even realizing he was doing it. Why couldn't he have been this sweet and kind fifty years ago when they married, or a hundred years ago when they were raising Feliciano and Ludwig together, maybe they wouldn't have lost him on that battle field. Gilbert had done a fine job of raising him though; she was rather surprised of how Ludwig had turned out living with him. The family though really could only have one black sheep.

The German ambassador to the Austro-Hungarian Empire was an elderly man who had clearly seen better days. He was someone important in the German Empire though Elizaveth didn't have the faintest idea who he was. She was sure that he had attended some parties that they or the Emperor might have held, but she could scarcely recall him. There were so many people at those sorts of events it was almost impossible to keep track of everyone. "The telegram hasn't come in, I'm afraid." He said almost as soon as Rodriech walked in, Elizaveth filed in behind him to sit on a seat. She needed to, for the moment, play the meek and dutiful wife, she would bash heads in later if she must.

"I-I am sure it will come soon." Rodriech said his voice faltering just slightly. With Germany's backing they could now begin to truly debate what course of action was to be taken. While the faction clamoring for war in the Emperor's government was rather loud there were those who still wished for peace, including Rodriech once he'd calmed down after the assassination. Rodriech was not Gilbert, he was not a warmonger, but there were those in his court who thought Austria had grown weak with idleness. They like those back in Berlin wanted a war, wanted something to show that Austria was still a power to be reckoned with, that they weren't just fit for fighting petty wars with second rate nations to their south. Idiots, the war could bring the end of the empire if they lost, but no one ever thought that way.

"Do you want Germany to go to war, Ambassador?" she asked deciding not to beat around the bush. Rodriech would ask in some coy diplomatic way that would only lead to a coy diplomatic answer, but she was tired of such answers. She dealt enough with that in the Emperor's court that she didn't want it from anyone else. The Ambassador looked a bit taken back by her question, whether it was that she was a woman asking it or by the directness of it, she wasn't sure.

"I-" the ambassador began to protest only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. "_Kommen Sie doch in_."

"_Mein Herr_, _nach Berlin ein Telegramm_." The youth said holding an envelope in his hand. He had short curly brown hair that peeked out of his gray cap. He reminded her much of the way she'd looked when she was about his age. She carried a sword wherever she'd gone and worn armor all the time though. He placed it on the Ambassador's death and then left the room. Quick the Ambassador opened it and began to read the telegram from Berlin to himself leaving Elizaveth and Rodriech in some suspense as to what it contained. She rolled her eyes, wondering if the ambassador even truly knew who he was in the room with, Rodriech didn't flounce his status as the representation of Austria all that much, it could be that this ambassador didn't know.

"Here." The ambassador handed the telegram over to Rodriech, Eliaveth quickly standing up as well to read what it said.

_**Confidential- For Your Excellency's personal information and guidance**_

_Berlin_

_6 July 1914_

_The Austro-Hungarian Ambassador yesterday delivered to the Emperor a confidential personal letter from the Emperor Francis Joseph, which depicts the present situation from the Austro-Hungarian point of view, and describes the measures which Vienna has in view. A copy is now being forwarded to Your Excellency._

Elizaveth wondered if Rodriech knew what was in the letter Franz Joseph sent. Probably, he'd been with the Emperor all day for the past week or so, their visit to Berlin Saturday an exception. She continued reading the telegram skipping a few paragraphs or so as it pertained to the relations with other countries whom they could try to convince to come to their side. She would rather not ally themselves with Vlad and Romania due to her former rivalries with Vlad, but she could see the benefits of having him as an ally. Borris though was Rodriech's preference and Elizaveth liked that a lot better.

_Finally, as far as concerns Serbia, His Majesty, of course, cannot interfere in the dispute now going on between Austria-Hungry and that country, as it is a matter not within his competence._

_The Emperor Francis Joseph may, however, rest assured that His Majesty will faithfully stand by Austria-Hungry, as is required by the obligations of his alliance and of his ancient friendship._

_**Bethmann-Hollweg**_

A blank check then, they could do whatever they wanted to now and Germany would stand behind them. No matter what. It was a dangerous power to have, and there was hardly any mystery of how it was to be used.

**Author's Note (The part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): First things first, there won't be an update next week, I am going out of town and will be busy... like visiting a presidential library and going to see a zoo... not saying which. I really want to thank my readers again, your continued support has been hugely important to me. I would also like to thank Emily who gets text messages every other day from me asking for her opinion of what I write and what she thinks could be improved.**

**OC's or names that I've created:  
Borris: Bulgaria  
There were also two unnamed OC's Montenegro and Albania, I may name them later, I may not haven't decided if they'll show up again.**

**Translations:  
_Geh nach hölle, schlampe- go to hell, bitch *_I have decided that I feel Gilbert would talk to everyone informally because he is rude and slightly arrogant and there for would consider everyone short of his boss beneath him. So this command is in the informal, if my conjugation is wrong please let me know, it has been a while since I had to do informal conjugations.  
_Herrs Beilschmidt, ihren Besucher sind hier- Misters Beilschmidt, your visitors are here.  
__Lass Sie in- let them in  
__Kommen Sie doch in- Come in or do come in  
__Mein Herr_, _nach Berlin ein Telegramm- My lord, a telegram from Berlin_  
**

**If there's anything I've forgotten or anything else you want translated let me know via pm or review. Please don't forget to review, favorite, or follow. And remember all flames are sacrificed to llama gods.**


	4. Chapter 4

World War One

Chapter Four: July 14-20, 1914

**Paris, France**

It was his birthday. He was… well he was old today. Francis sighed as he swished the champagne around in it's glass. He didn't know how old he really was, he lost track over a millennia ago. It didn't really matter anyway; he only looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six. He could remember living in Rome's house as a small child with Antonio. He shied away from his more… disturbing memories of living there. They were a long time ago and he had dealt with the scars they'd left. It was his birthday; he was supposed to be happy. He had invited every nation in Europe to come to his birthday party as well as Alfred, Matthew, Kiku, and a few of his South American trading partners. Almost everyone had come, Alfred hadn't been able to attend, he had gone back to America a week ago and now had to deal with is neighbor to the south Mexico who was causing him trouble, and one other hadn't attended. Francis really hadn't expected him to; he always sent back the invitation with a few choice words for what he could do with it. It was okay, really. You couldn't please everyone.

"Happy birthday, Francis." Kyle said coming up, the young man had come in attendance with Arthur. Francis had told the island nation to bring all the colonies, the more the merrier. He liked it when his house was full of guests, when he was surrounded by people and was the center of attention. Arthur always said he was vain, and he had never argued with that statement.

"_Merci_, Kyle." He said watching the young man walk through the crowds to find someone else to talk to. He had left the koala back at Arthur's home it seemed, the bear was nowhere on the young man's person. Francis was a bit grateful for that, the koala could be dangerous when it wasn't sleeping.

"_Guten Tag,_ Francis." Rodriech said. He looked exhausted; there were small black rings around his eyes from where he wasn't sleeping. Preparing for war couldn't be that exhausting could it? He would have to make sure Gabrielo and Rodriech didn't meet, it wouldn't do any good to give them anymore reasons to go to war.

"Rodriech, always a pleasure to see you again." Francis said with a genuine smile. He liked Rodriech and Elizaveth, he was a bit weary of the woman's frying pan but he liked her well. It was Gilbert she always had the bone to pick with, not him. "Elizaveth, you look beautiful today." The strong willed brown haired woman smiled back.

"Thank you, Francis and _boldog születésnapot_." She said, her smile widening to show off her teeth. He hadn't been lying when he said she looked beautiful, the cream dress flattered her very much. It was nice to see such a happy couple; he and Arthur had been a bit on the outs since the assassination. Arthur refused to get involved if he got pulled into the war, he technically didn't have to go to war if Francis did because they only had a nonaggression type treaty. They only wouldn't fight each other. Arthur for the past century had been maneuvering his way around the world without creating treaties. He didn't need to, he had the largest empire in the world, and his navy scared just about everyone. Except the Germans. And it probably scared them a little bit too.

"_Merci_, Elizaveth. You are too kind. I am glad to see you could attend. I know these are troubling times for the empire." Francis said curtly, he took a sip of his champagne.

"We will survive." Rodreich said stiffly.

"Of course." Francis agreed. "Do say hello to Antonio, I am sure he will be happy to see you." With that Rodreich pulled Elizaveth away, his back straight and uncomfortable. Francis sighed and mentally hit himself, the comment about Antonio hadn't been necessary and he knew it. Rodriech wasn't comfortable speaking to his ex, even though their marriage hadn't ended on a bad note, well not personally at least. Rodriech just never knew quite what to say, Antonio on the other hand was quite friendly to him on the rare occasion they saw each other. Neither one of them had wanted to be married to each other, and their marriage, if one could really call it that, had been full of affairs. Antonio's mostly with Francis's, though he had slept with Gilbert during those times as well. All three of them used to sleep together a lot back then, as long as Francis hadn't been spirited away by Arthur in his pirate ship. They had been close, so very close since the Roman Empire, all three of them.

He hadn't truly spoken to Gilbert in a hundred years. He regretted that, but it wasn't as if he hadn't tried, it was Gilbert now who wasn't giving their friendship a chance again. It was Gilbert who wanted to destroy him, who felt he was the threat. He still could remember Bismarck's plan to completely isolate him from the rest of Europe, he'd almost succeeded in doing so.

"_Feliz cumpleaños_, Frannie." Antonio chirped sauntering up; Lovino was behind him looking as if he wished he was anywhere but here at his party. Francis smiled at his old friend giving him a kiss on each cheek as a greeting. "Lovi, tell Francis happy birthday." He nudged the younger man's ribs with his elbows.

"_Buon compleano_, wine bastard." Lovino nearly spat out. Francis guessed it wouldn't be Lovino unless a few insults were thrown in there. He had no idea what his best friend saw in the kid, Antonio had raised him when he was a young boy you'd think that he'd act more like Antonio.

"Thank you." Francis said just deciding to accept Lovino's birthday wishes and move on.

"You look sad, _mi amigo._" Antonio said letting Lovino's hand go so the man could run off and talk to someone else at the party. Probably Bella, he and the Belgian girl had been close since the both lived in Antonio's house many years ago. "What's got you down? Are you and Arthur fighting again?"

"When are we not?" Francis asked shaking his head. He took another sip of his champagne; he was going to have to get another glass soon. "It's not Arthur, I was thinking about Gilbert again." It was Antonio's turn to frown this time, and he put a hand on Francis's shoulder. There was a sad look in his green eyes, he didn't like to see Antonio sad, such a joyful, lively man shouldn't have such a look in his eyes. But it wasn't as if they all hadn't experienced such pain in their lives.

"Gilbert is- Gilbert has- You killed his brother. He- he has never forgiven you for that." Antonio said quietly, he seemed uncomfortable to be breaching the subject, but he hadn't said anything Francis didn't already know. He knew that he had killed the Holy Roman Empire, that he'd killed the young boy on a battle field and then signed for his disillusionment later that day. That he had been mad and crazy at the time, and that Gilbert would never forgive him.

He wouldn't forgive himself. He woke up many mornings from nightmares about the boy, about the noose he found around his neck and Gilbert's pronouncement of his death as punishment for killing the Holy Roman Empire. He wasn't the first nation to kill another nation, Romulus certainly hadn't had an issue with it, the ruin of Carthage was a wonderful example of that. "I know." Francis whispered, he looked around the ballroom that the party was being held in, cream colored walls covered by the crowd of his many guests. Arthur was nowhere in sight, Francis wondered if he'd already gone back to the hotel he was staying in before taking a train to Calais in the morning and then the ferry back to London. It was getting rather late and Arthur did enjoy his sleep. Many of his guests were departing, trickling out of the room slowly, one by one. It had been a rather nice party even if Francis had found himself not really being able to enjoy it. He took another drink of his champagne and wondered when the taste of the stars had died out.

"You aren't alone, Francis, I am still here, still your friend. And I do not think Arthur has quite abandoned you yet to your supposed fate. Ivan is your ally, and I do not think he will abandon you." Antonio said trying to find some comfort in the situation for Francis. The blond nodded, putting the empty champagne glass down.

"So did you and Lovino come together?" He asked trying to divert his friend's attention to something else other than his own problems. Antonio shook his head and Francis waved to a nearby waiter for two champagne glasses.

"No, Lovi really doesn't want much to do with me these days. He says he's too busy trying to run Italy by himself. He had some choice words to say about the king as well. He thinks the man is an idiot." Antonio shook his head, "I know things have been tough since Feliciano left. Lovino is used to being in his brother's shadow, being out in the sun like this is very stressful, he's not used to it." Francis nodded sympathetically. Feliciano had always been preferred by everyone over his more callous big brother even as babies Romulus had seemed to prefer his smiling younger grandson over his louder big brother. Lovino had often been shoved into Antonio's care as he was the only one who could make him stop crying. Not even the boy's mother could do that.

"Things will get better, _mon ami_." Francis said putting his hand on Antonio's shoulder and giving the tan man a smile. "For both of us you'll see." The waiter that Francis had asked for drinks from came back, Francis took both of the glasses filled with the cream colored drink that fizzed and bubbled. He handed one of the drinks to Antonio who barely looked at it before downing the entire contents barely tasting the champagne.

"I think I'm going to need something a bit stronger, _mi amigo_." Antonio said taking Francis's glass out of his hands and placing the empty one in it, and then downed that glass as well. Francis almost was horrified by his friend's treatment of such fine champagne, almost. His behavior only showed how upset the Spaniard was, whether it was by Lovino's constant rebuff of his feelings or the tension heating up in Europe at the moment or a mix of both, Francis wasn't sure. But he knew a solution, a temporary one at least, to Antonio's problem.

"I have plenty more back at my place." Francis said with a not so subtle wink. Antonio smirked a little. "Besides," Francis's mouth went closer to Antonio's ear as he spoke. "You haven't given me a birthday present yet." He felt Antonio's spine shiver as his tongue lightly licked the outside lobe of his ear. He was so fun to rile up.

"I thought I gave it-" Francis silenced him with a finger to the lip and shushing noise.

"I know you did. And I really appreciate the tomatoes from your garden, they're wonderful and I know I can make something delicious with them." Francis said. "I was trying to be sexy." Antonio made an 'o' with his lips and nodded. Francis wondered if he should find someone else instead to have birthday sex with him. Arthur might be up for it if he was in a better mood, Mattias was here as well and though he and the Dane didn't speak much he knew that the man wasn't opposed to casual sex, and there were always nights spent drinking absinthe at the Moulin Rouge and cancan dancers if he was that desperate. Which he wasn't… yet.

"Sorry." Antonio mumbled, his cheeks now tinged red with embarrassment. They weren't nearly as red as Lovino when he was embarrassed or angry, but they were a deeper shade of red then Arthur's pink. It was rather endearing to Francis. He took Antonio's chin in between his forefinger and thumb and brought the Spaniard's face up to his and kissed him. Kissing Antonio was familiar and comforting to Francis, a reminder of old times. He knew how Antonio's lips would feel pressed up against his, how soft they were, how Antonio would bring his hands up to run his fingers through Francis's long blond hair to pull them closer together. "We should probably go back to your place." Antonio agreed before leaning in to kiss him again.

**London, England; July 15, 1914**

Matthew didn't fancy being Francis at that moment, or Kyle, Leon, and Raj either. The three younger boys were cleaning up some mess they had made earlier that day earning them Arthur's wrath which was already running rampant because Francis had slept with Antonio last night. Matthew sighed as he read through another proposal that needed his signature before it went back over the ocean to Canada. He was supposed to be back in Ottawa a week ago when Arthur was finished with his tour of Europe he was supposed to go on that got cancelled when the Archduke of Austria-Hungary was assassinated. His bosses back in Ottawa felt he was needed in London right now to help Arthur if anything was go awry. Everyone seemed to be on edge about a looming war that had seemed improbable until the assassination, funny how one thing could suddenly turn into something much bigger than it had to be. It was sad that the gentleman and his wife were assassinated, he had heard that they'd left children behind after they died, but he didn't see why Francis should get pulled into a war because of it. Yes he understood how, but still it didn't make sense.

He wished Arthur and Francis hadn't started fighting almost immediately after finding out too; the telegram boy had barely left the front stoop when the fighting had started. He had wanted to see his _Papa_ a little bit. But Arthur wouldn't let him in the house after they began fighting, and Matthew doubted that the fighting would stop now. He frowned, signing his name at the bottom of the document. He understood why Arthur was upset, but he and Francis technically weren't in a relationship. It was complicated because, Matthew knew, they had been sleeping together and that Arthur harbored romantic feelings for the Frenchmen, but Francis didn't commit easily even when he did love you. And they had been fighting, and Francis probably had felt that Arthur didn't want to see him. He was glad he didn't have to worry about romantic entanglements; they almost seemed more trouble than they were worth. Francis and Arthur's certainly seemed to be.

Outside the sitting room he had converted into his office for the time being he heard the phone ring, he would have to get it. Right now Arthur was pissed drunk off the remaining alcohol in the house and was in no condition to be answering the phone, no matter who was on the opposite end of the line. Though if it was that German hoser he might just let Arthur talk just to annoy the man. Matthew held very little love for the man who had hurt his _Papa_ so badly. With a sigh he stood up on the third ring and went out into the hallway where the phone was. "Kirkland residence." He said picking it up.

"Is, uh, is Arthur there?" A peppy feminine voice asked with a slight lilted French accent, Belle, Francis's extremely kind neighbor to the north. Matthew didn't know her all that well; he didn't know most of the countries all that well. This was the first time he was out of Canada for a major crisis and getting to meet everyone else. Arthur kept his colonies rather sheltered, Matthew was surprised he let Raj and Kyle come along to Francis's birthday party yesterday.

"No, he is indisposed at the moment. Can I take a message, eh? I am sure he'll call back as soon as he possibly can." Matthew shifted slightly on his feet and looked around the hall for a piece of paper and pen. Putting a hand on the receiver he called out to one of the younger colonies passing by to get him some paper. "Sorry about that." He apologized.

"It is no problem." The woman said on the other side, he could practically see her smile in her voice. The younger colony gave him the pen and paper before scurrying off to find something to do. "Just ask Arthur if our trade talks were still going on in a month. I know things in Europe are tense right now, but I am sure neutral countries such as ourselves won't be drawn into such nonsense." Matthew nodded writing down the Belgian's message, she seemed like such a nice girl he hoped at the next meeting he would be able to talk to her. It was good to start cultivating relationships so that when he finally was no longer a dominion but his own country he would already have said relations in place. "You're Matthew, right?"

"Yes." He said nodding.

"You're such a darling, so polite. Arthur's done a fine job raising you. I'm sure you don't remember but when you lived with Francis, I used to stop by often and give you sweets." No, he didn't remember that, but he didn't doubt it happened either. He was so young when he lived with Francis, so very young. He remembered mostly the good times, or he tried to at least. It was hard remembering things at such a young age. "I hope to see you soon, Matthew."

"You too as well." Matthew said awkwardly before hearing the sound of her disconnection. He put the phone back on the hook and took the message he'd written down for Arthur and headed over to Britt's study. Hopefully he hadn't made it too much of a warzone in there.

He quietly opened up the door to Arthur's study, the nation was slumped over his desk surrounded by liquor bottles, the mirror that normally hung on the wall was scattered in many pieces all over the floor. Some of the bottles had been knocked over with liquid still in them covering much of the paperwork that had been on the desk in brown liquid. Matthew scrunched his nose up at the smell; Arthur had broken out his stash of rum. The Englishman had favored that liquor above the others because of its popularity when he was a pirate running around the Caribbean. With a small sigh, Matthew realized that Arthur's head too was lying in the brown liquid.

"Is he okay?" Johannes asked standing behind Matthew and trying to peer over the taller nation's shoulder. Matthew ignored his question and pushed the door open wider so he could enter.

"Draw a bath, please." He ordered the younger boy as he walked over to Arthur and tried to push him off the desk. The man was heavier then he looked. He took a step forward to get better leverage on Arthur and heard glass cracking. It was a picture of Francis, Matthew carefully bent down to pick up the picture, it didn't seem to be too cracked. He slipped it into his coat pocket to return once Arthur was much more sober. Then he slid one of Arthur's arm over his shoulder, putting his right hand under Arthur's right arm and lifting the shorter man up. Arthur's head lolled down and Matthew felt as if he was performing some sort of Olympic sport, and he still had to get Arthur up one more flight of stairs. Why had he been cursed with two dramatic parents?

The bath had done wonders for Arthur; Matthew sat on a nearby stool while his father laid in the porcelain claw foot bath tub immersed in the warm water that Johannes had drawn for him. Matthew had sent the boy to make a kettle of tea for Arthur when he woke. He hated it. He hated that Francis drove him to drink in such excessive amounts. Hated that Arthur let him do it. This wasn't new, according to everyone who had ever spoken to him on the subject; this was the way their relationship had been for many centuries. No one ever said what drove them to this type of relationship, but Matthew had his suspicions.

"How'd I get 'ere?" he heard Arthur slur, he jumped off the stool and looked over the side of the tub to see that one of Arthur's light green eyes was opened blearily, and as the other one opened he began to blink rapidly. "Matthew 's 'at you?"

"I'm right here." Matthew said reassuringly and went to get a wash cloth from the stand. "You should probably wash your face; you were lying in rum for quite some time." Arthur took the small white towel with a nodded, touching his face and wrinkling his nose at how sticky it was. Matthew went to sit back down on the stool to give the straw haired man some privacy while he woke up.

It was quiet in the bathroom for some time; Matthew had been a bit afraid that Arthur had fallen asleep in the bath except that he could hear splashing every few minutes and low muttering. "I'm sorry luv," Arthur said breaking the silence, "I'm sorry you had to see me this way again." His head popped up over the top of the tub, he looked a lot more sober now then he had when he'd woken up five minutes ago.

"It's- it's okay." Matthew said with a small shrug, he fiddled with a button on his jacket not looking Arthur in the eyes.

"He's terrified you know." Arthur said after a few moments. Matthew frowned, a bit puzzled by who Arthur was referring to. He heard the water move against the tub and looked over to see that Arthur's head was now resting on his arms which were lying on the tub's rail. "Francis."

"Oh." Matthew mumbled.

"That's why he slept with Antonio, and I know it's why too. I know that we've been fighting and so he felt he couldn't turn to me. I know that Antonio can offer him comfort about it that I can't." Arthur rambled frowning. "And I knew all this and I still drank all that, and put all that pressure on you. I've always put too much pressure on you. I've always been able to count on you, Matthew, and I take advantage of that."

"Arthur, it's okay." Matthew tried to say, but Arthur didn't seem to hear him, he just went on about how he was treating him unfairly and that Matthew shouldn't have had to take care of everyone just because he was being over dramatic. Matthew had to agree with him, he was over dramatic, but honestly Matthew didn't mine taking care of the younger colonies or being there for Arthur.

Arthur slunk back down into the tub, the water must have been freezing by now, but he didn't say anything about it, he just left Matthew to his thoughts. Which revolved around his _Papa_, which was now becoming a much more frequent reoccurance. "Why is he terrified?" he asked quietly.

"What was that luv?" Arthur asked popping his head back up out of the tub.

"Why is _Papa_ terrified?" Arthur frowned and then let out a very loud sigh and closed his eyes.

"Because of what he thinks Gilbert will do to him, because he knows Gilbert is angry with him, and believes him to be rightly so. There are things that happen in this world that we don't mean to happen. Sometimes events spiral out of our control, sometimes we spiral out of our own control. We are nations, Matthew, but we are also people too. We act and function like human beings, we just don't grow older the way they do, we're tied to the land the way they are not." Matthew had never thought of how ancient Arthur was till he looked into his eyes right at that moment. His eyes looked ancient, betrayed the years his caretaker had seen. They were so many more years then he had ever seen. "We can go crazy too, remember that. Francis went crazy about a hundred years ago. I am sure you remember I left you in my brothers' care while I went to go fight." Matthew nodded, Brian and Wolfbric had taken care of him for a few years, they weren't nearly as strict as Arthur was or as uptight.

"In your _Papa's_ madness, he did something he will regret till the end of his days. He did something he never would have done when he was sane and he did something that tore his best friend apart and ruined their friendship. He killed a nation, Matthew. A very old nation with a young personification." Arthur looked down, and Matthew wondered what the look on his face must be. He felt horrified inside, horrified that Francis did such a thing, killing a nation was one of the worst things anyone could do. He must have been quite crazy at the time for him to have done it.

"Why are you telling me this?" Matthew whispered.

"So you understand why Gilbert wants to destroy Francis, why he his terrified of what Gilbert will do to him." Arthur said. "I am afraid for him too, Matthew. I am so afraid, but we won't enter unless neutrality had been compromised."

"Who's neutrality, eh?"

"Belgium's." Arthur leaned down in the tub and Matthew heard the chain rattle and the water begin to gurgle as Arthur allowed the water to drain out. "She's afraid Germany might invade her to get to France."

**Copenhagen, Denmark; July 20, 1914**

Mattias frowned as his visitor walked into his office, it was quite a mess with papers scattered all over his desk and book cases over cluttered with knick knacks. Dust covered everything but his desk; he just couldn't find the energy to clean it. "What do you want this time, Gilbert, what territory of mine could you possibly want this time?" The albino stopped walking when he reached the Dane's desk and gave him quite the wild smile.

"No territory this time, Mattias, just support." Gilbert replied putting both hands on his desk. "What do you say, do you want glory again?"

"I'm neutral, and I intend to stay that way, Gilbert." Mattias's tone was unfriendly and slightly annoyed. He had better things to be doing right now then dealing with his neighbor to the south. Well no actually he didn't but he didn't really want Gilbert to know that. He felt weary most of the time, his bones and muscles aching. He wondered silently to himself for the past fifty years if this was what it felt like for a nation to be disappearing. If the other nations kept chipping away at him like they had been doing for centuries he just might do that. "Besides, the only way I'd side with you is if I get the Jutland back."

"Not going to happen."

"Well then, it sounds as if you and Rodriech are on your own for this one." Mattias shuffled papers around on his desk, aching to have his axe in his hands right now. Gilbert could probably still take him even if he did, he was weak now. Weaker then he'd ever been. He had lost Lukas, Berwald, was on the verge of losing Emil, his empire was no more. He wondered if he'd even ever truly had an empire or just the illusion of one in his own mind. He wished he felt as happy-go-lucky as he made everyone think he did.

Gilbert leaned back and sighed, eye Mattias as he did. "When did we become enemies?" Mattias gave him a funny look and barked out a laugh. Was Gilbert crazy? They'd never really gotten along, always fighting over the Jutland and holding a stalemate about how far south his borders truly went and how far north the Holy Roman Empire's did. Things had been an uneasy peace on his southern borders for quite some time. "You looked up to me once."

"When?" Mattias barked.

"When we were children living with Aldriech. When he found you and Berwald up here, Lukas too. We took you in, do you remember?" Gilbert asked. That was before the Vikings, before he and Berwald started to hate each other, back when they were all a family. It wasn't time he thought of often, too far back in his memory; too much he wished he had back. The freedom he'd had back then, they'd all had back then. His promises to protect Berwald and Lukas by being the oldest, that's all he'd ever wanted to do, protect his family. It was all anyone ever truly wanted to do. Look how badly he'd fucked that up.

"I remember, but what does any of that have to do with this? Our governments don't get along, and you truly aren't' that desperate to try and convince such a disgraced nation as myself to join your sides really?" Mattias asked in a bit of disbelief.

"No, we're not desperate, every bit of evidence points that we will win. That this war will be short and that we will be victorious." Gilbert said proudly, they probably will be, Mattias thought, Ivan certainly wasn't prepared for war and neither really was Francis. "But I was offering you, Mattias, just you a chance to reclaim some of your former glory."

"I told you my terms, I want the Jutland back." Mattias said, "If that is all, I suggest you go." Gilbert turned and left his office not even looking back. Mattias collapsed into his chair, he hadn't even realized he was shaking till much later, nor did he realize that he had started a fit of maniacally laughing either till a maid came in much later and helped him calm down from his fit. It wasn't the first break down he'd had like that, but they were happening with increasing frequency and he wondered, not for the first time if nations could be committed.

**Tokyo, Japan**

Kiku tried not to let his impatience show as they waited for the Emperor to arrive. He was getting out of control. Already rumors were being to swirl around the capitol that the Emperor was incompetent, if they stopped believing in their emperor, would they stop believing in the idea of Japan itself? Kiku frowned, all this philosophical talk about koku-tai was starting to go to his head, before the Meji restoration and when Alfred came no one wondered what it meant to be Japanese, they were just Japanese, they were the gods chosen people. There was no question about it. So why now? Why had the philosophers now begun to question what being Japanese was?

He pushed aside the unwanted questions and thoughts that had plagued his idle mind for the past decade or so. He had no time for them now, war was upon Europe, they were eight days out from the Austro-Hungarian Empire's ultimatum to the Kingdom of Serbia time ran out and no one very much thought that the smaller kingdom would actually listen to what the dying empire had to say. And it was a golden opportunity for Japan, an opportunity to gain more lands and resources that the island nation needed, to prove that they were on equal terms as all of the other European powers. They had reversed the unequal treaties set up a half a century ago when Japan didn't have the fighting power to stop them, now they just had to prove to be Europe's equal. Kiku knew they could do it, that by helping the Entente they would earn the respect they deserved.

There was a timid knock on the door, to which one of the ministers's aids opened it in response. Im Yong Su stood there, pale faced and looking at all of the important people before stepping in. Kiku frowned, why was the Korean boy here, he had tasked him to taking care of the Emperor, an honorable position even for one not of the Japanese race. "Sirs," Im Yong Su said bowing to them. "I bring a message from the Emperor himself." No one said anything, there were no gasp of astonishment or sighs of irritation, there was just silence. "He says he is not coming, that he is unwell, and wishes the ministers to carry out the meeting without him. He expects Honda-sama to make a full report to him after the meeting though." Im Yong Su bowed again and then departed from the room.

Prime Minister Ōkuma Shingenbu, an elderly gentleman who had already been Prime Minster one other time in his life and had helped reform the government after the Meji Restoration seemed to sigh in relief of the news. "It is unfortunate that the Emperor has fallen ill, we must make sure that we come to best decision we can in his name." The other ministers murmured their agreement with the Prime Minister.

"War is coming," the Foreign minister said, "there can be no mistake now. Japan has to decide who she will enter with, France or Germany." The others around the table nodded in agreement. "England is our ally, and yet the empire has proclaimed neutrality in this incident. Should we follow her lead and stay out of this war or should we enter?"

"We should enter of course." The Minister of War said, "Think of the territory we could gain by entering on either side, France controls Indochina while Germany has many territories doting around the Pacific, both could give Japan what we need for international rise."

"What do you think about this, Honda-san?" The Prime Minister asked turning to Kiku.

"It is illogical to think that the British will truly stay out of this war no matter what they say right now." Kiku said calmly, "Even now they prepare for war; we should propose to them our help. We should allow them to see that we are willing to uphold our end of the treaty. We are allies after all, are we not?" The minister of war frowned, but the Prime Minister and the Foreign minister both seemed to agree with what he had to say.

"Honda-san words are wise. We should not be so quick to rush into this war without first weighing the results of either side." The Foreign Minister said. The Minister of War frowned but said nothing to the contrary. Another minister spoke up in his defense; Kiku sat back and watched as his government worked, a small group of wealthy men all with their own political agenda and ideas, and who claimed to help the Emperor but in reality controlled everything. The legislature had gained some power in the past decade, but they still lacked the power and influence to control the bureaucracy, and the people didn't seem to mind so he didn't mind. Perhaps it was better this way.

They argued with each other, each bringing up ideas and points that made sense to themselves and a few of their colleagues. He found that during these times it was better to remain quiet and observe like the Prime Minister was doing. He would report on this meeting to the emperor later, though he doubted he would mention the arguing. He would tell the emperor of the council's decision, mention that they acted in his will and the emperor would agree even if it was declaring war on longtime allies. Taisho lacked the will and the determination needed to control the bureaucracy like his father had, to an extent. After some time of debate the Prime Minister brought it to a close, ordering a vote though it seemed obvious which side would win such a thing. Kiku watched the procedure with a heaviness in his hearts, things were being set in motion like a small brook that formed into a raging river, and he wondered where this decision would take them in the future.

**Author's Note (the part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): My trip was good, my family and I had a lot of fun. I would like to though express my condolences to those of my readers affected by the Malaysia MH17 and the violence in the Middle East. It hasn't been the best week for peace in the world has it? On to a bit more lighter topics, I am changing the schedule from updates once a week to updating every two weeks, this gives me a bit more leeway with my work schedule. I work at a summer camp and there are many evenings I come home and crash on the couch and don't feel like writing. **

**Note: koku-tai as my Modern Japanese History professor described it was a sense of Japaneseieness (his word not mine). Its the very idea of being Japanese, it became a big thing after the Meji restoration in 1868 and played a huge role in the thirties in the rise of militarism and totalitarianism in Japan. **

**As always feel free to leave a review either praise or constructive criticism I would like either. Let me know what you think. Thanks.**


	5. Chapter 5

World War One

Chapter Five: July 28- August 4

**Prague, Austria-Hungary**

The room was dimly lit giving it an almost eerie feel to it, across the table from him sat Rodriech and Elizaveth, the two seemed near inseparable since the assassination a month ago. Three hours ago the ultimatum to Serbia ended with only eight out of the ten demands that the Austro-Hungarian Empire laid out met. Rodriech was ready to declare war, troops were already in place at his southern borders to invade, and now they were at the brink of war. He felt pumped, ready to fight, blood pumped through his veins faster than it had in the last couple of decades. He was ready for this. Ludwig wasn't though; he held fears and hesitation about this war as if he could sense something Gilbert couldn't. It seemed rather silly at first, Gilbert was the older nation, he knew what he was doing, Ludwig shouldn't be so concerned about the whole thing, and yet Gilbert knew that his younger brother was. Just yesterday his little brother had talked him into giving Francis an ultimatum about being neutral; he would send it out tomorrow. There wasn't much to discuss at this meeting, they all knew they were in agreement, he and Ludwig had promised their support to Rodriech and Elizaveth no matter where it would lead them. His mind wandered back to the phone conversation he'd had with Antonio just yesterday instead of paying attention to what the other delegates to the meeting were saying.

Gilbert sighed as he sat behind his desk in Berlin; he drummed his fingers on the dark wooden furniture. The reports sitting in front of him didn't tell him anything he didn't already know, the southern part of Austria was volatile as Rodriech allowed his people to discriminate against the Serbs in retribution for the Archduke's death. That whole situation had struck quite the nerve with the prissy man. Was it watching his leader die right in front of him, or had Rodriech genuinely liked the man? Neither really mattered now, just another reminder that humans died much more easily then nations and that they shouldn't get all that attached, not that Gilbert really could say much. He pushed aside old thoughts about a previous king of his that he had fallen in love with; the whole nation of Prussia had fallen in love with him.

The black phone on his desk let out a loud shrill sound drawing his focus away from Fredrick the Great and back to the modern day of 1914. "Beilschmidt here." He nearly barked into the phone, it was a bit more harsh then he would have liked.

"_Hola_ Gilbert, or is this Ludwig? You both sound the same over the phone." The chipper voice of his sunny Spaniard friend said followed by a nervous laugh. He almost dropped the phone receiver; he hadn't expected to hear from Antonio anytime soon. His old friend had stopped talking to him when he began to get aggressive against Francis. Gilbert had always taken it as a sign that Antonio had favored the Frenchman over him despite his claims of neutrality. It made sense, Antonio and Francis had grown up together under Romulus's domain when they were children, they had experiences together that neither talked about.

"This is Gilbert." He replied keeping his voice impassive and trying to figure out what the Spaniard wanted with him.

"Oh good," Antonio laughed nervously. "How are you doing?" The question sounded forced, as if he was just trying to find some way to buy time before they reached the topic of whatever reason he had called.

"I am fine." He replied curtly. "I would ask how you were but I imagine you are still recovering from Francis's birthday." The Frenchman always threw a lavish birthday party on the fourteenth of July celebrating the peasant revolt against the fortress Bastille much like how Americans celebrated the signing of their Declaration of Independence on July fourth or something like that Gilbert supposed. Francis sent invitations out to nearly every country on the planet including Gilbert, he had never attended one though, but Rodriech had. Antonio made a squelching noise into the phone.

"How did you know I slept with him?" Antonio asked not even sounding embarrassed about the whole thing. All three of them had long since gotten over the embarrassment of discussing their exploits with one another. "Lovino is so mad at me now too. He won't let me anywhere near his house anymore and won't answer my calls either." Well there was a shocker; Gilbert wanted to tell his old friend. It wasn't like it was any secret to anyone but Antonio that Lovino loved him; the idiot was just too prideful to tell the dopey Spaniard.

"He'll get over it." Gilbert said falling into the easy rhythm of talking with his old friend. This felt nice, he felt calm for once, he relaxed into the back of his chair and propped his feet up on the desk; he should talk to Antonio more often. "So you slept with Frannie again, did you?" Frannie, he hadn't called Francis that in a while, but the nickname rolled off his tongue without him even really thinking about it.

The two began to talk about days past, when they'd traveled around the French countryside together back in the early eighteenth century just after the Spanish War of Succession. All three of them had shirked off their duties for about twenty years and just traveled throughout Europe, staying mostly in France and the Holy Roman Empire, but every once in a while traveling elsewhere when need be. That had been great times. But eventually Antonio got to the real reason he'd called, and it wasn't to reminisce about old stories from two centuries ago, unfortunately.

"Don't kill Francis." Antonio said, "Remember all the good times we had, about all the adventures we had. Please, Gilbert, in the name of your friendship, in our friendship, don't kill him." The Spaniard's voice was pleading, almost a begging tone. Antonio never begged, his pride wouldn't let him.

"Did Francis put you up to this?" Gilbert asked immediately stiffening up in his chair, his voice took on an accusing tone and he almost became angry with Antonio for asking this of him.

"No." Antonio immediately said, "He doesn't know I'm talking to you. And I think he would be upset if he knew that we were talking about him, that I was asking this of you." Why would Francis not want Antonio to ask him to spare his life, wasn't Francis afraid of what might happen to him if he was able to defeat him this time around? Was he not afraid that if he lost this time around, which he would again, that Gilbert would not force him so low he would never rise back up again?

"Then why are you?" Gilbert sneered.

"Because he is afraid, Gilbert, he is very afraid. He is so terrified, he almost cried after we had sex. He told me that he was glad that I would be the last person he would have sex with, that he was glad that we had been friends over the past two thousand years." Two thousand years, had they really known each other that long? Gilbert did the math in his head, yes they had. It seemed strange that so much time had passed, it hadn't felt like that much time, or maybe it had and the years were just running together in one big blur. Were nations even supposed to live this long? Maybe with Francis's death, it would be the start of all of the older nations' deaths and the younger nations like Alfred, Ludwig, that one just north of America that he couldn't think of the name of at the moment, those guys; maybe they would survive. Maybe. Or maybe there were newer nations appearing that they just didn't know yet. Or maybe by some grace of God they would all survive and live another thousand years fighting in wars and hating each other.

"He thinks he deserves to die." Antonio said pulling Gilbert from the confusing ramble inside his head, where had he been going with that anyway? He stared at the white wall diagonal from him as he tried to process what Antonio had just told him.

"What do you mean Francis thinks he deserves to die?" He was sure Antonio had been about to answer his question when a knock at the door interrupted him and he had to say his goodbyes to his old friend with promises to call him back later.

He hadn't called Antonio back yet. He still didn't know why Francis thought he deserved to die. Could it have something to do with the Holy Roman Empire? Surely Arthur had told him the truth of the mater in the past hundred years. Weren't they chums now or something, he and Arthur had once been close friends. Now they were rivals, both extremely industrialized and competing for being a great power in Europe.

Rodriech was staring at him, why was Rodriech staring at him? Had he missed something important that had just been said? "Uh… sure?" Gilbert said, throwing in a smile just to pacify Elizaveth, no need for her to bring out that damn frying pan of hers.

"You haven't been listening to a word of this have you?" Rodriech said shaking his head. "Your brother must have the patience of a saint to put up with you all day."

Gilbert shrugged, "Don't make all your meetings so boring, _Prinzessin._" He taunted watching Rodriech's face turn red and he began to sputter incoherently.

"I think we may be done here." Elizaveth said intervening on Rodriech's behalf. "I am sure Gilbert has important things to do with his time, such as figuring out why Francis deserves to die." Had he said that out loud? Had that been why Rodriech was staring at him? It made sense; Ludwig said he had an annoying habit of saying things while he was thinking, he didn't even realize he was saying it half the time. Well whatever, it wasn't like this meeting was useful anyways, it was just a waste of time, one more formality that was over and he could go back to plotting his invasion of Russia.

Ludwig was going to Russia, to defend their eastern borders; if all went as expected he would be able to join his brother on the Eastern front in a matter of weeks. If there was anything left to conquer in a matter of weeks. This war would not be a long one, Gilbert doubted it would last any later then Christmas. How could it with his superior numbers and forces compared to Francis and especially Ivan. Ivan who was still industrializing himself, how could he hold a candle up to the might that was the mighty German Empire? Ivan might think himself a bear, but he was nothing more than a cub fighting over the fish with an eagle. Two eagles, Ludwig could hold his own as well.

Gilbert stood up contemplating whether or not he should phone Antonio and demand answers about the conundrum he now found his thoughts in. It would suit Antonio right to be woken at such ungodly hour such as this one; he shouldn't say such dramatic things. What time was it anyway? Rodriech was such a drama queen holding meetings this early in the morning just to go over what they already knew, he needed to get back to Berlin, it wasn't as if he was going to be invading Serbia, and technically they weren't at war with Russia or France yet so he could just focus on troop mobilization right now. The faster he mobilized, the faster this war could be over and then- and then things went back to normal- he guessed. Was normal fighting with Francis now or being his friend?

Gilbert left the building they had been meeting in, some government building in Prague, he hadn't really paid attention to which, and began his search for a cab. He doubted there would be many out at this time of the morning, the sun was barely over the horizon, and already there were purples and greens dancing along the sky giving it a rather beautiful glow. He needed to get to the train station; he could back to Berlin by noon if he found an early enough train.

**Washington DC; August 1, 1914**

"Alfred!" shouted Charlotte from the upstairs, "Peter won't stop crying." Alfred sighed as he shut his book and put it down on the side table beside his couch. When was he going to get out of the baby stage, being the only person who could get him to stop crying was getting a bit stressful when he was trying to run America as well? Trying to keep America out of this blasted war that had brewed up in Europe, how many phone calls had he received from France? From England, and England wasn't even part of the war yet, neither was France though it was only a matter of days before war was declared between France and Germany. Russia was already at war with the young empire. The news had come in about an hour ago via telegram from the embassy in Russia. Even though he'd know it was coming, Russia had mobilized troops three days ago; the news had still made his heart drop.

He made his way up the stairs of his two story town house that had been built three years ago when he decided he was needed in Washington more and more and couldn't live in the plantation house in Virginia anymore. It had been a plantation up until when he bought it in the early eighteen hundreds, Alfred didn't keep slaves nor did he grow crops, he sold most of the land it had come with because of that, keeping a small portion for the gardens. Now that house sat empty except for when Alfred held state and territory reunions, in which case it became a madhouse, forty-eight states, plus his territories of Alaska, Hawaii, Philippines, and Puerto Rico. Sometimes Matthew and Carlos came too, and if Arthur and Francis came then it was a real party. Alfred smiled to himself thinking about the last time Arthur and Francis came to a reunion he held at his plantation house, 1904 or 1905, he couldn't remember which year exactly. They'd just signed their nonaggression treaty pact thing.

Alfred walked into the nursery where the two baby territories lived, Peter and Lilo. Lilo looked to be about two at the most, she was quietly playing with some wooden blocks near her crib while Peter was bawling in Charlotte's arm in the rocking chair. "Sorry, Charlotte, I should have put him down for his nap, not you." He apologized taking the baby from her. "Guess he's going to be a daddy's boy."

"Or a Momma's boy depending on how you want to look at it." Charlotte teased, Alfred lightly swatted at her. He was grateful for her help, he wasn't sure he'd been able to raise the two young children without her help. She picked Lilo up and placed her in her crib, she was much more complying then Peter.

"Shhh, _Petya_, Daddy's here." Alfred cooed, smiling as the baby reached out and grabbed his finger. Peter made a gargling noise from his throat and closed his vibrant blue eyes that matched Alfred's own. He smiled as he watched his son, and kissed his forehead, just blow the tuffs of silver hair that were beginning to grow in.

Downstairs the phone began to ring; Alfred closed his eyes and sighed with annoyance. Peter was just going to sleep; he didn't want to wake him up now. "Charlotte," He whispered to the girl leaving the room, "Can you bring that up here." She nodded and gathered up her skirts and headed down the stairs. All of his states were so different from each other, Charlotte was a proper young lady who wore her skirts at all the right lengths, and had once been the darling of the southern states. Abigail was a rebel rouser, she had been one of the loudest of the colonies to suggest separating from England, Charles was passionate about whatever he got himself involved in, including fighting a war against him, Shirley loved those new motion picture contraptions.

"You're going to be big and strong one day, _Peyta_." He said to the boy in his arms. "Just like your fathers." Fathers. Alfred hadn't even known countries could switch genders, never the less become pregnant. They didn't do it often, apparently, only when new countries or states, had to be formed. Francis had implied that was what happened to Arthur with him and Matthew. He didn't know about any of the other countries and how they came to be. Francis and Arthur were ancient, like most of the other nations in Europe, Francis couldn't remember how he came to be while Arthur mentioned having a mother who was a nation, but had no idea who his father was. Kiku, who was another ancient nation, claimed that he had once been a god of his people who had come down to live with the humans; Alfred thought it was a load of bullshit. With his own states, most had just appeared in their territories one day. Alfred could remember growing up with Abigail, Theo, Charles, Charlotte, Mary, Elizabeth, Richard, Erik, George, James, Penny, Augustus, Connie, and Humphrey, but couldn't remember where any of them had come from. One of life's great mysteries, Alfred guessed.

"Alfred," Charlotte said, as she walked in, "It's Ivan," He nodded, and stood up, he'd just take Peter with him, he couldn't afford not to talk with Ivan, not when he didn't know when he'd be able to speak with him again.

He took the steps by two and then rushed into the sitting room where the phone was and sat down in the chair beside the table it resided on. "Ivan? You still there?" he asked into the transmitter hoping that Ivan hadn't hung up on him for some reason.

"I am here, _Fredeka_." Ivan said, Alfred could almost see the other man's smile in his voice, it made Alfred smile as he shifted Peter in his arms so that he could better hold the phone.

"Sorry, I was putting Peter and Lilo to sleep. Peter doesn't like to fall asleep unless I hold him." Alfred chuckled, "He'll have quite the temper, probably, one day."

"Peter, that is Alaska, is he not?" Ivan asked.

"Yes he is." Alfred said looking down at the baby, a perfect mix of him and Ivan. Alfred had bought Alaska from Ivan in 1869 and unwittingly created the baby the night the deal went through. Ivan still didn't know that the representation of his state was also his son as well. At first it had been Alfred's fault he had been embarrassed by his pregnancy and his subsequent gender transformation, then when he had finally turned back into his normal gender; his government hadn't wanted Ivan to know because of colonialism. They didn't want Russia to have any reason to claim Alaska as their own once again, especially not when gold was finally found there.

"He sounds rather attached to you." Ivan said with a hint of amusement, he should be attached to you as well, Alfred thought. He looked down at the sleeping bundle nestled into the crooks of his arms while he spoke to Ivan over the phone.

"A bit too attached at times." Alfred said laughing, "Maybe I'll introduce you two when everything has all blown over." I'll finally tell him the truth, Alfred decided, Ivan deserved that much. He was going to find out sometime, and Alfred would prefer it be on his own terms. Ivan would forgive him; he'd understand why he had to keep him a secret for so long, hopefully.

Ivan didn't speak for a moment, and Alfred could feel the tension in the air. How stressed he must be, Alfred wondered to himself. "I am calling you, Alfred, because I am about to board a train departing for the front in Germany. I do not know when we will speak next." He closed his eyes, nodding, forgetting that Ivan couldn't see him. "Are you okay, Alfred?"

"Yeah." Alfred said quietly, "Take care of yourself, okay. I need you to come home in one piece." Alfred wondered how much the war would strain their relationship, Alfred was determined not to get involved, it was Europe's war and he had nothing to do with it. Ivan was the only one not begging him to join, that they needed his help, probably because he understood Alfred's desire to remain out of Europe's problem. But they were also used to talking at least once a week if not more, and with Ivan being out in the field most of the time, phone calls would be sporadic at best. But they could do this, right?

"Of course, _Fredeka_, it will take more than that demon to take down the Russian bear." Ivan said in his scary voice, the one that made everyone else shiver and Alfred just laughed, usually. He supposed the demon Ivan referred to was Gilbert, the representation of the nation of Prussia –was Prussia even considered a nation now- and one of the two representations of the German Empire. He was the only one Alfred had met, the other one was shyer, he guessed, because no one really had ever seen him before. Ivan's words were more bravado than anything else, everyone knew that Russia wasn't ready for a true modern war; they had hardly started their industrial progress and were nowhere up to the might of nations like America, England, or Germany. Alfred just hoped he just came back with his pride tattered and nothing more serious.

"Ah, yes, of course, _Vanya_, I forgot about the Russian bear." Alfred teased, "How is Francis and the others?" He hadn't had a real conversation with the rest of his family since the assassination, they were all so busy with preparation and diplomacy, they all called to wish him a happy birthday on the fourth, and he'd called Francis to wish him a happy birthday on the fourteenth, but other than desperate begging for him to get involved in the war, there hadn't been much contact.

"Francis is writing his will I believe, and wringing his hands over when the German Empire will declare war on him so he can face his death with what little dignity he has left." Alfred hoped Ivan was joking. "Arthur on the other hand is giving Germany threats about joining if they disregard Belgian neutrality." That sounded like Arthur, he didn't actually do anything until he was absolutely forced into doing something. "And Gabrielo believes he can take on the world, the little fool." Alfred chuckled a little bit, but it sounded forced to him. "You sure you don't want to join this little rag tag team against the might of the German Empire?" Now Alfred knew Ivan was teasing him, any side with Arthur on their side was not rag-tag, Arthur had the largest navy in the world, Alfred pitied anybody who picked a fight with him. Anyone besides himself of course, there was no way Arthur's navy could stand up to his righteous freedom; he'd already beaten him twice.

"As much as I love you, Ivan, I don't really have a problem with Gilbert. As much competition as he is to me, what's capitalism without it? Besides he helped me out a lot with the Revolution, you know we still use many of the tactics he and von Stuben taught me are still used today." Alfred said, shifting Peter in his arms again, the boy was getting heavy and making his arms fall asleep if he stayed in one place for too long.

"Is that what you tell Francis and Arthur too?" Ivan asked with mirth.

"Sure thing." Alfred teased. He could hear someone speaking in rapid Russian on Ivan's side of the line and then Ivan began to speak in Russian to whoever it was speaking to him.

"I have to go, Alfred, the tsar needs to speak with me before I depart for the front." Ivan said, Alfred could feel his heart drop. He nodded, and the remember Ivan couldn't see him.

"Go. We'll speak later."

"_Da_," Ivan agreed despite neither knowing when later would be.

**A train headed for Konigsberg**

It seemed rather strange riding a train all by himself for this long of a period of time. He rarely went anywhere without Gilbert right there, it was rather… quiet. Ludwig wasn't sure he would ever miss his brother's insistent chatter all the time, Gilbert was rarely quiet, and when he was he was usually sleeping. The silence seemed deafening now, the peace and quiet Ludwig longed for on many long train rides was here, but he found he could not enjoy it. He wished that their separation had come some other way then this, a war. It wasn't that Ludwig didn't like war, he didn't like it either, he was rather indifferent on the subject. He'd never fought in one before, not one that he could remember. Gilbert said he'd taken part in the Napoleonic wars; that was where he'd lost his memories. Since then Gilbert had done all the fighting, and even now he was being sent to the Russian front, where there would be less danger and more successes, probably. Gilbert promised to join him once France was taken care of, it wouldn't be too long. And then no one would mess with the German Empire ever again. Hopefully. Gilbert never added the hopefully when he gave his long speeches to him about why they were fighting, Ludwig just always added it on whenever Gilbert would say it.

The country side was rather pretty, most of the land though that he was traveling belonged to Poland once. He was supposed to meet Feliks in Konigsberg when he got there, Feliks was traveling from Danzig. Ludwig hadn't met him before, though Gilbert had told him that the other nation was a bit eccentric. He wasn't sure that dressing up as a woman counted as eccentric or just plain strange, but he wasn't going to judge him if he was any good on the battle field, Feliks had been around longer then him and had seen more than him. Gilbert was a bit worried though about the Pole's loyalty, he spent half the year in Russia as the lands he represented were half part of the German Empire and half in the Russian Empire. And Feliks had more ties to those who were under Russian rule then under the German Empire, Ludwig didn't know all the details, but if he remembered his history correctly, Gilbert waged many wars on Feliks and Tiris or was it Taris – the Lithuanian whatever his name was- Ludwig was frustrated trying to remember the names of people he'd never met before. Deep breath, he told himself, he was nervous, and it wouldn't do anyone any good to act on his nerves. He could do this without Gilbert, he didn't need his brother to hold his hand anymore, he was a representation of the mighty German Empire, he would not fail the Kaiser or the Reich.

Ludwig's hands went up to his neck where he pulled the chain out from under his collar and looked at the cross his brother had given him earlier that day before the train departed.

"We won't be separated for long, okay?" Gilbert said, ruffling up his blond hair knowing that it irritated him. He wasn't a child anymore, Gilbert needed to stop that. "West, you've grown into quite the country, I might need to go into retirement soon and let you take over."

"_Nein_," Ludwig protested, a bit afraid of what his brother might do if he stopped taking care of the German Empire. Elizaveth had told him stories of the trouble his brother used to get into before… everything. Ludwig was terrified to reunleash that on an unprepared world. "But maybe when this is all over we can share the responsibilities of the nation." His brother smirked and nodded.

"There's something I need to give you." Gilbert said pulling out a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. "It's something only given to the highest of warriors, you understand me?" Ludwig nodded, he had an idea of what his brother might be giving him, but he was excited to receive it non the less. His brother wore an Iron Cross on his military uniform; it represented his brother's bravery and courage through his many battles. It was something Ludwig had always wanted to wear, but he'd never been tested in combat before. "I know you might not feel ready to wear it yet, but I know you will earn your right to wear it, you are my brother after all and a Beilschmdit, you come from a line of warriors, _Opa und Vati _ would be proud of you." He unwrapped the white handkerchief to reveal the metallic black cross that was so sought after by German soldiers.

"Gilbert, I-" Ludwig tried to find the words to say, but felt at a loss for them as he looked down at the black cross in his brother's hands. Gilbert smiled and put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him before putting the cross around his neck on a chain.

"You don't have to let anyone see it right away. Just keep it close, okay." Ludwig nodded. "Make me proud, _bruderchen._" The station master had called for his train right then and Ludwig had picked up his pack and heaved it onto his shoulders. "_Tschüs_."

"_Bis später._" Ludwig said as he stepped onto his train and glanced back towards his brother who was waving goodbye.

Ludwig wasn't sure even now as he looked down at the cross that he deserved it, he hadn't been tested in battle yet. But he promised Gilbert he would wear it, so he kept it on the inside of his coat, he would know when the time was right to let everyone see it. The cross felt heavy in his hand, as if he could feel the weight of the responsibility he would now shoulder because of it. Gilbert trusted him to do a good job out here, to give him results. He would not fail his brother.

Paris, France; August 3, 1914

"Francis, open up!" Monique rapped on the door to Francis's Parisian apartment, God, why did he have to be such a drama queen? "Francis Bonnefoy, I know you're in there. I swear to God if you don't open this door up in two seconds I will-" she was cut off by the door opening. Disheveled was putting the way Francis looked mildly. He looked as if he hadn't slept in a couple of days, and even from the few steps away she was from him, Monique could smell the alcohol on his breath. Why did he have to be so dramatic all the time, she wondered with annoyance as she pushed past him and entered his home.

At least the place still looked tidy, the liquor cabinet was open, and there were empty bottles all over the dining room table, but he hadn't spilt anything on the carpets, nor had he thrown bottles against the wall. Typical Francis, drunk off his ass and still won't damage his perfectly posh home. He followed her into the sitting room where she made herself comfortable on his couch, folding her hands over her skirts and then waited patiently for Francis to sit down as well. She would have preferred to have this conversation while he was sober, but she would take him drunk too.

"Why are you here?" Francis slurred still standing. Monique watched him with her piercing gaze, many found her frightening, she supposed strong women would be frightening to a society of men who perceived women as weak things, barely human. Monique had been anything but weak even as a young child growing up in Francis's household, even if she had barely seen Francis himself at times during her childhood.

"To remind you." She said simply, Francis frowned and glared at her. He was probably angry she was making him think in the state he was in. Well, it was his own fault, getting drunk at a time like this. She wouldn't be surprised if some _cocotte de luxe_ walked down from his bedroom, mewling at him like a- well like a cat or something. She never made her distaste for his choices in bed companions hidden from him, Antonio or Gilbert she could take, but all these women that would come in and out of his bedroom. She had little patience for Francis and his floozies.

"Remind me of what?" he asked still glaring, she ignored it.

"Of your promise of course, you promised me that you would protect me." She said before adjusting her round rimmed glasses. "Or do you intend to go back on your promises." Francis frowned again at her.

"Gilbert doesn't want to conquer something so small as you." Francis said, he began to walk away from her. "Good day, Monique, it was nice chatting with you."

"He declared war on Philip yesterday, Francis, and today he declared war on you." Monique shouted after him. "You cannot hide in the sand like an ostrich; you have men out there, men who will die defending France while you hide in here like some coward. Gilbert will not kill you." She stood up as she spoke, stomping her foot when she finally said her peace. She was almost surprised when she heard the hollow laughing coming from her older brother. It made her nervous, she never saw Francis when he lost his mind all those years ago, he had made a point to avoid her. The hollowness of the laugh sent shivers down her spine and she wished she had brought back up, but there had been no one to get help from.

"Why wouldn't he kill me, Monique?" Francis asked not looking at her. "I killed his brother, he hates me for that. We were best friends for so long, and I killed his brother." Monique stayed silent watching him for any signs that he might become violent against her.

"I do not think he will kill you." She repeated, "You can push him back, stop him from invading your lands. You underestimate your abilities, Francis, you underestimate France."

"And if I do hold him off my lands, what then, Monique, do I subject my people to a long drawn out war that will ruin my economy?"

"If you don't push back against the German Empire, the France as you know it will cease to exist!" she shouted, "Gilbert won't kill you because he won't have to. All he has to do is make sure he just destroys your spirit, your pride, everything that could allow France to rise again. Lucky for him, you've already done most of the work." She pushed back the tears she felt coming to her cheeks, why was he so blind, so arrogant, so dramatic? She moved to leave the apartment, obviously he did not want to be reasoned with, he was so blinded by his own arrogance and self-importance.

When she reached the door she looked back to see if her words had made any impact on Francis, he hadn't seemed to have moved. That was fine, he could be like that. She opened the door, picked up her skirts and walked out, leaving Francis to whatever fate would befall him. She feared a little for her own safety in the world, but Francis had been right, she was too small for anyone to truly consider conquering. Besides she had other things to worry about other than Gilbert and his armies, she needed to sort out this secession issue and quell the riots.

The car she had hired was still outside; the driver seemed to be reading a newspaper of sorts. He looked up when she opened up the backseat right hand passenger door. "_Mademoiselle, êtes-vous bien?_" She closed her eyes and allowed a few tears to slip out.

"_Oui._" She nodded, wiping away the few escaped tears so they wouldn't ruin her make up. "_Retour à l'hôtel s'il vous plait._" She ordered, the driver nodded and started up the car. She turned to look outside the window back to Francis's apartment, her stupid, daft brother. She almost didn't believe what she saw, Francis running out the door, running towards the car as the driver started to drive away.

"_Attendre!_" Francis shouted trying to wave down the driver as he ran on the sidewalk beside them. Cars didn't go that fast yet.

"_Arrêtez!_" Monique said, the driver slowed down and came over to the sidewalk. Monique opened up her door, but made no movement to get out as Francis approached the vehicle. "What do you want?"

"Monique, I wanted to say I was sorry. I shouldn't have been so disrespectful to you in my apartment. You always have my best interest at heart; you've always been my doting little sister. I am scared, Monique. I am scared for France. Arthur is mad at me, and I am afraid he will not join this war, and I am not sure Russia and I can hold off the German Empire without him." Monique nodded, she knew Arthur and her brother had been fighting on and off since the assassination. Sleeping with Antonio after his birthday party had done nothing but make Arthur angrier it seemed. "I will go and fight though, you are right about that. I will have boys out there dying for France, it would be a shame for me to allow them to do such a thing without their nation out there dying with them." So he still believed Gilbert means to kill him, that was okay, as long as Francis didn't go down without a fight.

"Apology accepted." Monique said putting her hand on her brother's shoulders. "You won't do this alone."

**London, England; August 4**

"I'm going out." Arthur said to Matthew as he walked out the door.

"At this time of the night?" Matthew asked, just before he shut the door. The younger man was frowning. Arthur knew he was worried, but really there wasn't anything more to worry about. The Germans weren't responding to their ultimatums about declaring war on Belgium earlier today. What was the world coming to when neutral nations were declared war on unprovoked? It seemed outrageous, and yet that's what Gilbert had done, Arthur wasn't going to just stand by though and allow the German Empire to roll over neutral nations like that. This meant war, the British Empire though hadn't yet declared war on the German Empire, but it would be soon, very soon. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk, don't worry Matthew, I don't think Gilbert has sent saboteurs just yet to assassinate me." Matthew huffed and crossed his arms at Arthur's attempt at a joke; obviously the Canadian hadn't found it funny. Arthur gave him a half smile and then closed the door behind him before Matthew could protest more. It was only ten-thirty and he wasn't going to any of the worst parts of London.

Arthur met the grim faced cabinet member just outside Hyde Park at ten minutes till eleven. The Foreign Secretary was the only one in agreement with Arthur that this war would last longer than most other's predictions. "Sir Grey," Arthur said.

"Sir Kirkland." The Foreign Secretary replied.

"Is it done?" Arthur asked, the other man shook his head.

"Eleven-o-clock." Sir Grey replied, Arthur pulled out his pocket watch, 10:53, seven minutes. This would be the last seven minutes of peace he would see in some time. He closed his eyes trying to absorb that thought in, in seven minutes he would be at war, again.

"To think all of this started because someone was assassinated." Arthur muttered to himself, he was dragging himself into a war that shouldn't be the problems of all of Europe. It seemed ridiculous almost, but wars had been started over pettier things.

"I think this war was started long before the Archduke's assassination, it is just that the battle field is finally being laid out." Sir Grey said as they continued their walk just outside Hyde Park. This part of London was rather quiet at night; there were other less savory parts that were not as quiet, where music and the sounds of intoxicated men could be heard well into the night.

"That is rather poetic." Arthur said looking at the many buildings that surrounded the park. He clicked open his pocket watch again, 10: 56, four minutes.

"Anxious, sir Kirkland?" Arthur shook his head, he wasn't anxious; he'd fought in many wars for long periods of times. He was just concerned or something, he guessed. He didn't want to miss the eleven-o-clock hour. Though how could he with Big Ben not too far away.

They continued their walk in silence for the next couple of minutes before Sir Grey stopped underneath a lit lamp post. He looked up at the black pole as if it was some measure of curiosity to him. Arthur checked his pocket watch again, 10:59; the second hand was just passing the seven; only twenty-five seconds remained. Fifteen seconds. Arthur held his breath. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The familiar gongs of Big Ben's bell rang out eleven times, starting when the second hand hit the twelve. That was it then, he was at war. The quiet of the streets suddenly seemed eerie and the hairs on Arthur's neck rose. Then suddenly Sir Grey spoke still looking at the lamppost. "The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime." And Arthur nodded in agreement.

**Author's Note (the part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): Sorry this is a day late, life happens. Next chapter should be on time, hopefully. After that I am not sure how often I will be able to update because I will be back in school, hopefully this will still update in a timely manor. I want to thank my readers for taking the time to read this and reviewing.  
**Translations:  
_Tschüs- _informal way of saying goodbye, see ya or something like that  
_Bis später__- _until later (literally) another way of saying see ya, less informal though.  
_cocotte de luxe__- _high class prostitute  
_Mademoiselle, êtes-vous bien?__- _Ma'am are you alright?  
_Retour à l'hôtel s'il vous plait.- _back to the hotel please.  
_Attendre-_ wait  
_Arrêtez!- _stop


	6. Chapter 6

World War One

Chapter Six: Letters

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

**Just outside of Charleroi, Belgium; August 23, 1914**

_Cher_

He stared down at the piece of paper in front of him as he sat in his makeshift tent just hours after the sound of retreat; the Germans had won the battle. One of many battles, they'd been fighting for nearly a month now and yet hardly any ground had been taken, just given. He should be in Lorraine, that was where he had been told to go, but he could not just abandon Arthur and Belle who were fighting in the north. Maybe he should have, maybe he would have had better luck if he had gone to Lorraine instead. Doubtfully. Rumors swirled of the Third and Fourth's defeat at the hands of the Germans at Ardennes in eastern France, but it was hard to get any accurate source of news when you were on the front lines and fighting. News of the armies defeat though did nothing to boost the morale of those who were already losing.

Francis almost crumpled up the piece of paper, it was useless trying to write to someone, who was he to write to? Arthur? Arthur was busy fighting his own battles up in Belgium somewhere. Matthew? Hopefully he wasn't fighting somewhere up in Belgium too, but he probably was. Alfred. Maybe he could write to Alfred. He and the younger of their two boys hadn't always seen eye to eye, but it couldn't hurt to write to the rambunctious lad –now he was beginning to sound like Arthur calling Alfred a lad- and at least he wouldn't be bothering anyone on the war front. Alfred wasn't likely to get involved, he wanted very little to do with European politics, and now seeing the mess they'd made for themselves, he couldn't blame him.

_Cher Alfred,_

_ I am writing to you after a busy three days. I am in southern Belgium right now, though I doubt I will stay here much longer. We are pulling back to closer to Paris I believe. The battles have not been faring well, not for any of us except Gilbert._

He hadn't seen Gilbert in the fighting, though with forces spread across Belgium and Eastern France, Francis very much doubted he would see Gilbert at this one particular minor skirmish. It was an impromptu battle really, they had been planning to cross the Sambre, only the Germans had gotten there first.

They hadn't received much warning, though what warning they had gotten, had been enough to muster the troops and get in position for defending the position. Francis was a gunner on a machine gun, a Hotchkiss model, which took three other people to operate, it could only shoot thirty cartridges before it had to be reloaded, and it could only be fired for two minutes at a time before it over heated and they would have to stop and let it cool down or else it would catch flame. There were ten in his battalion all together, which was quite a lot for the number of machine guns the French army had in use, less than a thousand. Of course having that number of such a weapon meant that Francis's battalion was placed at the front line when at all possible.

"They're coming!" Michel said nervously, already rifles were firing over their heads as they loaded clips in the Hotchkiss. Francis had just started hearing the sounds of the German's machine gun fire, though it was more distant.

"Watch your fingers." Clement warned as they got the gun ready on the stand. Francis felt his heart beat quicken with the anticipation of the battle. They were ready, now they just had to wait, wait for the enemy to come to them. There was no need to fire needlessly at the moment without enemies in sight. They would only waste desperately needed ammunition.

_I am a machine gun operator, nasty business. Fingers are lost all the time, and the guns themselves are more likely to jam then they are to work, but still they are effective. It takes four to operate this beast of a machine which my team has affectionately called Marie Antoinette, after my last queen. We had hoped when we named her such that she would kill as many Germans as the woman she is named after killed French peasants. I am the oldest of the four of us in the operating team, I even would be if I was the age I looked and not a nation, Michel is young, seventeen maybe, he should not be seeing such things. Clement is older than him, barely but he at least looks like he is an adult, he wears the most ridiculous beard, and Pierre is dead._

"Keep down." Clement hissed as the machine gun fire was directed their way, already men around them with rifles had fallen. "Can we load it without getting up?" He looked over at Michel who fished out clips for them to load.

"I think so." Michel said.

"Damn those Germans." Pierre cursed as another comrade fell nearby. "We're losing men too quickly, anymore and we're going to have fall back. They've already mowed down one machine gun team." Francis cursed silently and prayed to whatever God that should have been watching over them and preventing them from getting in such messes that they would all make it out alright. He looked around to see who was still around them, two riflemen and he could hear another machine gun team just beyond the bushes.

"The German machine gun team is moving, now's our chance." Michel hissed.

"Set up now." Francis said, all four of them popped up from the ground and began to set up the stand the gun would rest on. Setting up the tripod took a few minutes, and Francis could see the Germans in the distance getting ready to fire.

"We need to hurry up." Michel said nervously, he was always jumpy during fighting.

"We're going to be okay." Clement said calmingly, he always was the one smoothing everyone over in the battalion when the emotions ran to high. "We're going to be okay." Michel nodded as Francis and Pierre lifted the gun onto its stand.

"_Mange de la merde_!" Pierre shouted laughing, as Francis began to fire the weapon.

"We're running out of water to keep it cool." Francis said nervously as he heard a bullet whizzing by him and Pierre's laughter silenced. He almost didn't want to look as he glanced over at his other gunner to find him laying down face up, an iron bullet in his skull.

_He died laughing and shouting obscenities at the Germans. Michel cried. They will send us a replacement I hope, or we will have to train a rifleman to take his place. We retreated from our position not too long afterwards. Our losses were too great. I can feel it in my bones, all the young men dead already in this war not even a month old. _

The pencil shook in his hand as he wrote. He could feel all the deaths, not just the ones from the past few days at Charleroi but also in Lorraine. They died violently and gruesomely, in the most horrible ways possible sometimes. And yet somehow Francis could feel that the worst had yet to come, this was only the beginning; there would be many more deaths, many more ways to die.

**Madrid, Spain; August 25**

A rumor was coming out of the Spanish embassy in Brussels, in a small city in Southern Belgium were much of the fighting was taking place the German soldiers there had massacred nearly a thousand civilians many of them women and children. Antonio's hands had shaken as he read the report alarmed by the travesty Gilbert could have caused. If Gilbert had been there. The Germans were fighting a three front war right now (sort of), in the east they were battling Ivan and the Russian armies in Prussia, and in the west they were fighting in Belgium as well as in Lorraine. Gilbert wouldn't have committed such an atrocity; he would have reined his soldiers in if he had been there. But the fact was he probably hadn't been there, the armies were spread out, and there was so much fighting going on all over the place and even for nations it was impossible to be everywhere at once.

He hoped Belle was okay, massacres like that would leave gaping wounds in nations that took years to heal and left scares sometimes. A lot of the times. Antonio had his fair share of scars, though most of those had come from fighting in wars rather than his people being slaughtered. He loved Belle, she was like his little sister, she had lived in his house with Lovino and Lars and they'd been a family, happy at some points, fighting during others. Even though he and Lars hadn't always gotten along during times in the past, their more recent interactions had become much more civil. Antonio accredited to his dying empire, well he didn't have much left, he didn't even consider himself an empire anymore. He was a nation who just wanted peace and to leave the other nations alone. And he wanted Lovino to love him, but he would never force the boy. And his recent actions with Francis hadn't exactly made himself any more endearing to the younger nation.

He didn't regret sleeping with Francis. Didn't regret comforting a friend, one of his best friends. To many it sounded weird that Francis found comfort in sex, but Antonio had known him for so long it seemed almost normal. And Lovino had never been thrilled with Francis before; too many take overs by the French during the Middle Ages. Antonio had many reasons for his actions, none of them Lovino had accepted as a good one in his opinion. Why was Lovino hurt anyway, it wasn't as if they were dating, a darker voice in his head asked. Antonio brushed it aside; he wasn't going to be controlled by the dark feelings anymore.

_Sonreír Antonio_, he told himself, but he really couldn't find a reason to smile at the moment. His two best friends, two nations he had known since he was a child, were at war with each other. It wasn't the first time Prussia and France had gone to war with each other, not even the first time Gilbert and Francis had participated in such wars, but usually Francis fought with Arthur whom Gilbert had allied himself with or something. This was the first time they had really gone all out against each other personally, the first time they had gone a century without speaking to one another with Antonio trying to have some balance between the two. Some days he felt that he was siding more with Francis, a lot of days actually. His friendship with Gilbert had become strained by silence. They went years without speaking to one another sometimes. But he hadn't really talked to Francis as much as he used to either. He had kind of had a lonely existence these past century, he fought a bit with his former colonies in South America and lost, and then he hadn't done much of anything till Alfred picked that war with him fifteen years ago and lost. He had been doing a lot of losing lately; maybe it was just as well that he didn't take sides in this conflict.

He looked around his office, glancing up at the picture of the king Alfonso XIII, and then looked down at the letter on his desk. When he'd set out to write a letter he had originally thought he'd been writing to Lovino, but once he sat down to write he realized that at the moment he didn't really want to talk to the fiery Italian. Ever since the war started he had felt melancholy, numb. His people even were divided on whose side to take. _Hola_ he had written on a crisp white piece of paper, but now he didn't even know who he had been writing to when he'd written that word. He wanted to write to Francis, tell him everything was going to be okay, that he had nothing to fear, but there was also a part of him that wanted to write to Gilbert, and tell him that he still had a friend even though the world seemed to be against him. Nothing about his situation seemed ideal. But if he didn't write to Francis, or Gilbert, or Lovino then who did he write a letter to?

Belle. He could write to Belle and tell the dear girl that she had a friend still in this whole mess. That he had not abandoned her, and that he would petition for the better treatment of her people. After all the king was not happy to hear about the massacres, and Antonio did not think it would take much convincing at all to send aid to the Belgians.

_Hola Belle,_

_ Troubling news had been filtering through the channels about the German Army massacring your people. I want you to know that the Kingdom of Spain is willing to advocate for the better treatment of your people, and that we will send whatever aid we can to _help_ you recover from such atrocities. You are not alone Belle, do not give up hope. _

Antonio frowned as he reread the beginning of his letter. He knew what many people thought of him and his cheery attitude. How they thought he was a pushover and that he was unintelligent. He was none of those things, sure he had lost quite a bit of territory to Alfred a few years ago, his empire was gone, but his kingdom remained and he was content with that now. He was happy and cheerful and acted carefree because how was he supposed to not dwell on the pain of the past. He wasn't the only nation that used a cheerful demeanor to hide pains from the past. Feliciano, Alfred, Mattias, even Gilbert to some extent used a smile and brash cheerful attitudes to make others believe that they no longer felt the pains of their past.

Antonio had always been cheery, he could remember back long ago while he lived under Rome, running around playing tag with Francis smiling and laughing, and dancing whenever he got impatient because his legs wouldn't stay still. His life had changed dramatically since then, and yet he still found it within himself to be cheerful, if only so no one else knew how he truly felt inside.

_ Wars cannot last forever, and justice will prevail for your people. You are a brave and passionate lady, and your people are very lucky to have you as their representation. I will speak to the King on your country's behalf, but I do sincerely believe that he will agree with me and advocate for your people. I am sorry you have been dragged into such a conflict between France and the German Empire. I am sorry for my friends' actions that have led you to such pain._

Could there have been something he could have done to prevent Francis and Gilbert from fighting like this? He was their friend, both of their friends. He had known them since they were small children, barely able to be called nations, wondering what uncertainty the future held for them. Wondering in the back of their minds if they would make it to adulthood or if they would be one more nation wiped out of existence. Like Romulus and Demitra. They had made it though; all three were viable nations, with strong history and an even stronger future. He hoped that it would still be as friends.

_Keep smiling, Belle._

_Sincerely_

_Antonio_

**Lorraine, German Empire**

Gilbert gave a whoop of joy as he watched the French retreat, pansy bastards. He raised his rifle back up to his shoulder as he took a few more shots at the retreating army. They had won, pushed the French back. These were his lands damnit and he was going to make sure everyone knew that. The Rhine was a German river. He was on cloud nine as he heard the men he was currently serving with begin to shout for joy too as the French disappeared. There would a great victory party at the camps tonight, filled with song and beer, and perhaps the occasional women or two. It would be quite the contrast from the last couple of nights where they had quietly huddled together around fires as they cooked and hoped the French couldn't see them. But first they had a more sobering task to do first. "Gather the dead." He commanded to the men. "They gave their lives for the Fatherland, and we shall treat them justly." The victorious whooping came to a stop as sobriety kicked in.

Gilbert bent down and shut the eyes of a blond blue eyed kid who looked eerily similar to his brother, and suddenly he could see Ludwig, skull nearly bashed in, eyes wide open as his forehead bled and bled. There was so much blood. He was just a kid, just a kid, why had Francis done this?

"Sir, are you okay?" the familiar voice pulled Gilbert out of his hallucination, was it a hallucination, what else did one call such things? "You are pale, sir, well paler then you normally are, sir."

"I am fine, Hans, thank you. He looks like my little brother; that is all." Gilbert said as he bent down to shut those cerulean blue eyes forever. Please stop haunting him; he begged trying to push the glazed look out of his mind. He was a soldier, that's what he had been created to be, first a soldier for the Germanic tribes as they lay waste to the Roman Empire, then a knight in Charlemagne's court, then later going on the Crusades with Francis, and then finally as a Teutonic knight. He had fought and fought his whole life, watching people bleed and die. Blood had never bothered him before it had made a crown on his brother's head. His baby brother's head, the one he had ignored for so long, letting Austria raise him. At that time he thought he had lost every chance to get to know his blood brother, the little one that had cost their mother her life, the one he had promised his father he would protect.

"Is your brother back home in Berlin?" Hans asked Gilbert shook his head.

"He is fighting the Russians in the east."

"He will be fine then; those Russians can't shoot worth a damn." He chuckled, agreeing with the younger soldier. It was nice to know that he was still popular with the troops, he hadn't been down with the grunts since the Napoleonic Wars, the King had wanted him to be with the generals during the Franco-Prussian War, and while Gilbert would have normally just disobeyed such orders, Ludwig had also wanted him back from the fighting. And Gilbert had often found he couldn't deny his little brother anything.

"Come on, or they'll have started the parties without us." Gilbert picked up the unknown's soldier's body, fumbling through his pocket for his documentation. Ludwig, the boy's name was Ludwig as well. He said nothing just continued to walk beside Hans silently wishing to God Almighty that his brother was at home safe in Berlin instead of fighting on the Eastern front. It wasn't easy to kill a nation, Gilbert was well aware of that, but he had seen it done before, and with these new weapons, it could be even easier.

"You are thinking about your brother again." Hans said breaking the silence.

"Am I that easy to read?" Gilbert asked as he placed the human Ludwig's body in the stack of bodies waiting to be buried. Those with papers would be sent back to their families like Ludwig's, the others who could not be identified, or there wasn't enough left to identify would be buried in the shallow graves some of the soldiers were already digging. At least this was better than leaving the dead where they lay for the beast to eat upon.

"I too have a brother in the war. He is in Belgium, I believe. Not as far away as your brother."

"Still as dangerous." Gilbert said quietly, he could feel the death of soldiers in Belgium as well as those who had died in the east and here on this battle field. It was a feeling, he had learned to push away during the battles, as long as no one of importance or he people weren't massacred it was pain he could bear.

They walked the rest of the way back to camp in silence, but they could hear the sounds of drunken men already singing long before they reached the camp. "_Leib Vaterland, magst ruhig sein, leib Vaterland magst ruhig sein, Fest steht und treu die Wacht, die Wacht am Rhein!_" Well that might have been what they were singing had there been any tune or the words being sang at the right time. Gilbert shrugged; he was used to the drunkenness of soldiers after a long and hard earned victory. It had been a nine day battle, and many of them had seen comrades and friends die beside them. It was best to allow them one night to forget before they went back to the war. They would see many more die before it was over.

He headed towards his tent, he would be out later to celebrate with the men, for now he needed to write to Ludwig and make sure his brother was okay.

_Leib Ludwig_,

_I am sure you will hear of our victory here in Lorraine long before this letter arrives. Right now the men are outside celebrating, as they should. Always let your men celebrate a victory, Ludwig; it does much to boost morale. I wanted to make sure you were okay over there; we haven't spoken much since the train station. Make me proud okay. I know you will, you have always made me proud. _

_ I am sure that next we will push into main land France, I have heard of our victories in Belgium. It won't be long now before France is crushed and we will only have Russia to face. Don't underestimate Ivan, his people may not be the best equipped army in the world, but there are a lot of them, and they don't use fair tactics all the time. Ivan's one hell of a bastard. Don't know how Alfred can stand to be around him all the time, it would drive me nuts._

_ There was a dead soldier today that looked like you, blond hair, cerulean eyes, you even shared names. _

He erased the last sentence about the dead soldier, no need to let Ludwig know he was worried about him, it would only distract him. Besides, the incident was over now no need to dwell on it.

_This war will be over soon, of that I am sure. Tell the Hag Queen I said hello and Felix as well. Keep an eye on him, I don't think he will betray us, he much prefers us to Ivan, but he is quite close to Toris and I fear what might happen if they meet on the battle field. Also don't let him dress the horses up or wear any shade of pink. The man has atrocious fashion sense._

_Stay safe_

_Gilbert_

He could hear the soldiers starting up another rousing round of _Die Wacht am Rhein_ again as he put the pen down and folded up the letter. He would send it out tomorrow; hopefully Ludwig would get it within the next month. Personal mail was slow to deliver across battlefields even if you were an officer of rank like Gilbert. Then he stepped outside and found the first keg of beer the men were gathered around and grabbed a mug joining in with the song. "_Er blickt hinauf in Himmelsau'n, wo Heldenväter niederschau'n, und schört mit stolzer Kampfeslut: Die Rhein bliebst deutsch wie meine Brust!_" The Rhine would always stay German.

**Author's Note (the part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): I'm back. I took an impromptu hiatus and moved back to school as well as worked on a side story for Iron. It's called Blue Lips, and it is about Antonio and Francis while they live under the Roman Empire. It contains non-graphic child molestation, but it goes into further detail of the abuse Francis hints at in the beginning of chapter four as well as why Antonio might be so protective of Francis. If you want to read it go to my collection of one-shots Tales from the Hetalia Archives, it is the third story, any other one-shots I write about the universe Iron takes place in will also be published there as well as other one-shots I might write in the mean time. Go check it out.**

**The song the German camp is singing is called Die Wacht am Rhein or the Watch on the Rhine, it was a very popular song during the Franco-Prussian War and World War One. Little fun fact if you've ever seen Casablanca, the scene where they're at Rick's and the Germans are singing a song of pride and then the French start singing Marseilles and drown out the Germans officers, the Germans are singing Die Wacht am Rhein. **

** Also, don't forget to review.**

**Translation:**

**_Mange de la merde- _eat shit (french)**

**_Sonreír -_ smile (spanish)**

**The translations of the song lyrics are not a direct translation of the words themselves but rather the English translation I found on Wiki**

**_Leib Vaterland, magst ruhig sein, leib Vaterland magst ruhig sein, Fest steht und treu die Wacht, die Wacht am Rhein- _Dear fatherland, no fear be thine, dear fatherland no fear be thine. Firm and true stands the watch, the watch at the Rhine! (second verse)**

**_Er blickt hinauf in Himmelsau'n, wo Heldenväter niederschau'n, und schört mit stolzer Kampfeslut: Die Rhein bliebst deutsch wie meine Brust!- _He casts his eyes to heaven blue, From where past heroes hold the view, And swears pugnaciously the oath, Your Rhine and I, stay German both! (fourth verse)**

**If anyone wishes to correct any translations or wishes for me to translate anything else, please let me know.**


	7. Chapter 7

World War One

Chapter Seven: Battle of Tannenberg

**Italian Alps, August 27, 1914**

"_Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti, Beatae Mariae semper Virgini. Beato Michaeli archangelo, Sanctis apostolic omnibus santcis_, I pray that you keep them safe, that no one else shall die in this war." Like Holy Rome did. Feliciano did not say the last bit out loud as he prayed in his cell. He could feel the war in his bones, not even a month old and yet so many lives taken already. He was glad his brother had enough sense to keep Italy out; he didn't want his people to die as well. Europe hadn't been in a war like this in over a century, not since Francis and Napoleon decided to take over Europe in such a fashion. He should have known Holy Rome would have gone out and fought to protect his home, his whole family were warriors. His older brother was one of the best warrior nations to have ever existed.

"Brother Feliciano, I did not expect to see you still here." Brother Pierro said standing in the entry way to the cell. "Do you not have the bees to attend to?" Feliciano stood up, he hadn't meant to stay so long in prayer, but he had much on his mind to tell God. There were things he needed to let go, and things he should let go that he feared he never would, that was why he resided here in the mountains, in a monastery instead of down in Rome with his brother running Italy. Until he could let go of such things he felt he never could leave the monastery. He had become a lost nation, nations who abandoned their duties and their point of existing. Every nation took a break from being a nation, though they would come back in times of need for a short time, Feliciano had abandoned his duties for the past fifty years, ever since his reunification with Lovino, and even now after the emissary from Rome came to ask him to come back and help with the impending war crisis, he had refused. He felt bad for abandoning Lovino, his brother already had abandonment issues from when he lived with Antonio or maybe they went back further than that, Feliciano wasn't quite sure, but he had to leave, had to go be somewhere quieter for a while to grieve.

"Yes, sorry, I did not mean to take so long in communion with God." He apologized, brushing dirt from the floor off of his brown robes.

"There is no need to apologize, Brother Feliciano; I hope I did not interrupt you." Brother Pierro said Feliciano shook his head; he had been finishing up when Brother Pierro had come in. "There have been many a time when I have found myself spending my whole day communing with God. Sometime he has much to say to us, and sometimes, we have much to say to him." Feliciano nodded, he liked the elderly monk with his graying hair, he reminded him of the grandfather he had a long ago. He did not remember Grandpa Rome all that well, and Lovino had a fewer memories of their grandfather then he did despite being older. Antonio and Francis both had lived with their grandfather for far longer than Feliciano and Lovino ever had, but neither spoke of him. Feliciano always imagined him to be a kind man, who loved art, after all the Romans had left so many beautiful statues and buildings all over Italy, and was a good grandfather despite his early death. He wanted to be just like him, he was a good artist, and a kind person, but he wasn't much of a warrior. Lovino was braver then him and Lovino hated to fight.

"Ve~ I should attend to the bees then."

"Of course, Brother Feliciano, remember do all good in God's name." the elderly monk reminded him; Feliciano nodded and then walked out of the cell he had just been praying in. He liked taking care of the bees; it gave him an excuse to spend his afternoons in the crisp Italian Alps' air. And bees were easy enough to work with once you knew what you were doing. He wished he had his paints up here though; the mountains were so pretty up here. He had left those in Rome though with his brother, monks couldn't have possessions. They used the bees for honey which they sold at a local market just down the mountain a little ways, long ago they would barter the honey for food and such, now days some of the money went towards food and upkeep of the monastery and the rest was donated to the Church for it to do with it as it willed.

It was a lovely August day, the trees hadn't yet started to change color so they were still a lovely deep green color that made him want to pull out his paints and do some lovely Romanticism art with the monastery in the background. "Do you see it Holy Rome?" He asked the dead nation who was looking down on him from Heaven. "How beautiful the summer is?" It had been over a hundred years since his first love had died, but he hadn't been able to grieve through parts of it. He hadn't actually found out about Holy Rome's death till after the Napoleonic Wars were over, he had been in Vienna when Napoleon had taken over most of Italy and had fallen ill because of the invasion. Lovino hadn't been so lucky; he refused to live away from Italy and had been in Naples when Francis and Napoleon marched in. He had at times tried to convince people of how much Francis had tried to come on to him while he had lived in the Frenchman's house. Everyone knew that Francis hadn't been thinking of anything but conquering Europe at the time, and had hardly even been in France through most of the wars, preferring to be on the front lines with his armies.

It had been Elizaveth who had finally given him the unfortunate news. Feliciano didn't leave his room for weeks, maybe months he couldn't quite remember the whole ordeal. He had drawn the curtains and hid himself from the sun during the time, barely eating, barely sleeping. He had painted though, every memory he'd ever had of the friendly, shy blond boy he had loved. And he hadn't stop painting until every one of those memories had been painted, a reminder for him so he wouldn't forget any of them. And yet that had been enough grief for his joyful soul. He had been okay for some time after the initial grieving process, lived with Roderich and Elizaveth till his brother had convinced him that they should live in a unified Italian state as opposed to be controlled by someone else.

A year after unification he had been on a business trip to Prussia talking something over with Gilbert when he saw him, the blond young man who would have been the same age that Holy Rome would have been; same blue eyes. It had been too much for him. All the memories and grief had come flooding back and he had left the German nation there, gone on a train back to Rome and left that night to live in the monastery up in the Alps where he had remained since.

It wasn't a horrible existence, he liked the landscape and it allowed him to think about things he had never really thought about before. Did he truly believe in a God? Existential things like that, things that his brother thought he was too dumb to really think about. He frowned; Lovino was much too angry and judgmental at times. Sometimes he felt that he had been here much too long, just over fifty years in fact, that he should go back to civilization and rejoin society. But then he had days like today where he couldn't stop thinking about Holy Rome. Maybe this was all just part of the grieving process, or maybe he would always remain a recluse and waste away up in these mountains.

It didn't seem like an awful way to go. And death couldn't be that awful if he was with Holy Rome again. Feliciano shook his head as he scraped some of the honey combs off of the screen, he had never seen himself as suicidal before. He was supposed to be happy, supposed to be chipper, and cheerful. That was what everyone expected him to be. Lovino was the angry, grouchy one. "Maria save me," he whispered putting the screen back into the beehive. Suicide was a sure way to go to hell, the Church didn't even perform rites or ceremonies for those who committed suicide, nor could they be buried in a Catholic graveyard. Lovino would be devastated if he killed himself as well; he hated to think how bad his brother's abandonment issues would get.

"Lord, please keep my brother safe." He whispered as he walked to the next beehive. "Please keep my people safe. Keep Francis and Belle, and Roderich and Elizaveth safe, and even Ivan." Even if the tall Russian scared him he didn't want anything bad to happen to him. "And Arthur and all his colonies." Lord knew that Arthur had enough colonies fighting alongside him that Feliciano couldn't keep track of them all. "And Gilbert, and the blond boy." Except for the one time he saw the blond nation, he had never met the young man who represented the German Empire but he didn't want anything to happen to him either. He looked a lot like Holy Rome though. "Holy Rome, please don't let anyone else die."

**Tannenberg, Prussia**

This was, like, a stupid plan, the Russians were going to pulverize them, get them killed. And Felix would like, like, not to see that. Face the Russians head on, they said, they won't fight together, they said, Feliks grumbled in his head. Well the Russian's certainly weren't fighting together, but there was so many of them in one army that it was still overwhelming. He flinched as a bullet went whizzing by him and looked over to Ludwig whom he was fighting beside. The blond German was calmly raising his gun to shoot at those who were shooting at them, a very different man then the one Feliks had been dealing with for the past two days. Gee, he hadn't been aware the German kid could express as many emotions as he did in the days before the battle, he like understood being nervous before a battle, but like seriously the pacing and sighing hadn't helped anyone.

He raised his own rifle once he deemed it safe for him to look up without getting shot in the head that would like ruin his day, and his week, and he would have to transfer units, and like leave Ludwig which went against what he had promised Gilbert he would do. He wondered half mindedly if Ivan was out there on the opposite side fighting with his soldiers, he like hoped his bullets would be the one to hit the huge man. Ivan was not one of Feliks's favorite people, sure he was nice enough when he wasn't angry, it was when he was angry that Feliks hated him the most, he understood how lonely Ivan was, but he wished he could see Toris more. Ivan kept all the nations who represented territory he controlled in Saint Petersburg except Felix when he was with Gilbert and the Germans. In some ways he was glad that the assassination had happened in the summer, at least that way he could shoot at the Russians whom he disliked more than the Germans.

Gilbert didn't treat him badly or kill his people; neither did Ivan, just his bosses. And Gilbert let him live in his territory as opposed to Ivan, he liked knowing his people, to be able to sympathize with their plights a lot better. He just wished he didn't have to fight Toris as well.

"They don't stop coming do they?" Ludwig asked cursing under his breath as he raised his rifle again. Feliks hummed in agreement. He was more used to the onslaught of wars, though he hadn't fought since the Napoleonic wars, then the blond nation beside him. Ludwig had never fought in a war before, he wasn't used to the way men fell one after another or how they never seemed to stop coming in. Feliks couldn't remember his first battle; it was probably with some tribe or another with swords and spears as a young boy. He had seen so many battles since then.

"We're killing more of them then they are of us. That's like a plus." Feliks said with a grim smile. Ludwig shook his head.

"You sound like my brother."

"Well now I'm like insulted." Feliks gasped mockingly, "I think I'll like defect over to Ivan's side." Ludwig gave him a small glare. Feliks shrugged and raised his rifle again aiming at some more poor souls who were coming in their direction. "In all honesty Ludwig, Gilbert and I don't always see eye to eye on everything. But your brother is a good and honorable nation, even if he is a bit too rowdy for my taste. And don't you like ever dare tell him I like said that, cause then I'll never hear the end of it." Ludwig chuckled and swore never to repeat his words.

"You drop that strange tick of yours whenever you're being serious." The German nation pointed out; Feliks shrugged. A lot of nations had weird ticks when they spoke, came with the territory of living for long periods of time or something. Or maybe it had nothing to do with being nations, who knew, God probably.

"Sirs, you've been requested back by General Mackensen," a courier said as another soldier gave a holler of warning.

"Get down," Feliks hissed as he pushed Ludwig down as artillery fire began to rain down upon them. "_Kurwa_!" he hissed as he shot his head up, the courier looked frightened by the new addition to the fight. "They've got us pinned down." More shells began to rain down on them again, splintering trees around them and sending splinters of them everywhere. He could hear the moans from a nearby soldier who had been hit by the fragments of either the shell or the tree and was now missing a leg. "Don't look, it's better not to look." He told Ludwig.

"His leg," Ludwig said, "It's gone." Feliks nodded still not looking over at the moaning soldiers. The medics would come soon enough, they had to. Another volley of artillery went off, Feliks pulled Ludwig down again, only to realize that it had been German artillery, not Russian.

"About damn time." He muttered and then turned to face the courier. "Tell General Mackensen, we'll be there as soon as possible. But we've got to take out that Russian artillery over there." The courier paled slightly at the message he was supposed to take back and glanced over at Ludwig who nodded in agreement with Feliks. He looked over to the other soldiers he and Ludwig was in command of, a medic had come and was taken the poor soldier who had lost his leg away. The sounds of more guns, German again. The Russians had stopped firing their artillery for some reason, Feliks bit his lip, did they go after the artillery without orders to do so, or stay here and hold the line? Oh who put him in charge? Shouldn't Ludwig be in charge, these men were Germans not Poles, but Ludwig had never been in battle before, during the last couple of them German command had kept them back to do planning. And he, he had lead hundreds of battles, with Toris at his side; he pushed the last part of that thought away. Toris was the enemy now.

"What are we doing, Feliks?" Ludwig asked, he took a deep breath, don't panic, don't panic, he told himself, his mind was racing, they could stay here, but the Russians knew their position if the artillery started again they would be picked off one by one, but if they went after the artillery they could lose a lot of men and still not even take the guns. "We need to take out their artillery."

"We don't know how many men are guarding those guns; we could lose more men than necessary trying to take them." Feliks snapped, a bit horrified afterwards at his tone with the German man. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to like snap at you like that." Ludwig nodded silently.

He knew what they had to do. "We're going to go after that artillery." They had to take the risk, the doubted there would be too many guarding the artillery and chances were they weren't heavily armed. The Russian's always had an issue with supplying their massive armies. They didn't have the weapons for everyone, artillery men were usually behind the main forces, but Feliks was pretty sure that there wasn't anyone really remaining to protect the artillery forces wise, there wasn't anyone attacking them right now but artillery. Where ever the Russians were, they had left part of their flank open, and it was enough to take out those guns.

**August 29, 1914**

If they had just let him fight or strategize or something other than sit around in a stuffy dress military uniform all day they wouldn't be in this mess. But no, they were too busy trying to one up each other to really care to defend Russia, and the Germans knew that. Hindenburg wasn't an idiot, he was a damn good tactician and he knew how to play them and his generals were just eating out of Hindenburg's hand. Dogs, they were all dogs! He kicked a stick near his foot in anger. Deep breaths, he and Alfred had worked on the anger, sometimes it was good to allow the anger to take over him, like on the battle field, but right now it would do him no good. The Tsar was paranoid about him fighting, didn't want anything to happen to him or something of the sorts. It wasn't like he'd never been injured before; he had plenty of scars from battle wounds of battles long past, some now forgotten. He needed to fight alongside his people, wanted to fight with them. Every other nation in this war was fighting alongside their people, even Belle. He felt useless sitting here with the generals watching, observing but not actually interacting. Hell even Feliks was fighting, but the Tsar wouldn't allow any of the nations under his control fight. Why he was ordered to the battlefield and not been allowed to stay in Saint Petersburg or something it was just torture.

"Ivan," Toris said hesitantly but not without concern, "Ivan, the Tsar can't keep us out of the war. We are supposed to fight, we are supposed to stand by our soldiers who fight and die for our country."

"He's the Tsar." Ivan spat out viciously, "He dictates what happens to us because we belong to him." That wasn't right, he didn't belong to the Tsar, he was Russia- no he was Ivan Brangski the representation of Russia, and he should belong to himself. People feared him, nations respected him, and he should be out there defending the Second Army who was being slaughtered right now by the Germans. Almost completely encircled, there was no way for the First Army to save them. How would he show his face to his allies Francis and the Balken States? Gabrielo was fighting Roderich right now in Serbia, defending his homeland from the invaders and yet he could not fight for Russia because his leader would now allow it, did not want him to get hurt as if he was something the Tsar owned. He kicked the log sending it flying into a nearby tree.

"Ivan, stop." Toris cried out. "You're going to wake someone up."

"They are dying, Toris; my soldiers, my people are out there dying in those woods. I will be a laughing stock among the nations because he won't let me fight." Ivan snarled. "I am not his dog to be led by on a leash."

"We could enlist." Toris said quietly, looking around to see if any of the other officers in the camp was paying attention to their conversations. Most were already in their tents, miserable about the Second Army's soon defeat.

"As common soldiers?" Ivan asked incredulously, no one would know their status as nations; they would be treated as normal soldiers. It sound strange, foreign, Ivan had always been given a rather fine position in the officer corps of the Russian military. It would be nice though to meet some of the common people, the peasants he never got to meet because of living in the Winter Palace. He was out of touch with his people; he could hardly feel their pain anymore. But if they did that, he wouldn't get Alfred's letters. He raised a hand to his breast pocket where Alfred first and most recent letter was tucked away. If they enlisted under false names there would be no way for those letters to reach him. He would have to write to Alfred to inform him of the situation so that the American wouldn't be writing him letters in vain anymore.

Toris nodded. "_Da_, we should do it."

**Lorriane, August 31, 1914**

Gilbert was cleaning his rifle, again, right outside his tent. They would be marching soon, the French were retreating out of the region and if rumors were correct, they would follow into the interior of France. Of course the removal of a few divisions from the right flank of the forces in Belgium worried him greatly, true they were needed over in the east, but Schlieffen had been very admit in the planning stages of his great plan to invade France that the right flank needed to be protected. He glanced eastward as he had been doing quite a bit the past couple of days since news of the battle in East Prussia had been announced. Ludwig was out there, fighting against Ivan, Feliks was with him and Gilbert had fought against the Pole numerous amounts of time not to distrust Feliks's fighting capabilities but he still worried about his brother. How would he do under the pressure? Would the death and blood get to him? When this was all over would Ludwig wake up screaming with nightmares of what he had seen? Only Francis and Antonio knew of his nightmares when he had been a child out on the battle field. They two had, had their nightmares.

Ludwig would be okay, he was a strong young man and he didn't have the childhood innocence anymore. His nightmares, if he had any, wouldn't last for years. He put the rifle he had been cleaning down and tried to decide what to do now. He was restless; they were sitting in camp, with nothing to do and no word yet on how the outcome of the battle out east was going. He could feel the death in his bone, but he was so used to the feeling of war that he hardly registered it, if his armies had suffered defeat; it couldn't be too bad of one. Hopefully the Russians wouldn't take his beloved city of Königsberg; he had told Ludwig to defend that city with his life.

"_Mein Herr_!" a messenger boy shouted running up to him. "_Nachrichten von der Osten, mein Herr_."

"_Was ist sie, Jungen?_" Gilbert demanded standing up, his left hand shook and so he hid it behind his back.

"_Sie haben gewonnen, mein Herr!_"

"_Wer haben gewonnen?_" Gilbert asked fearing the worst. The Russians had defeated his armies at Tanneberg, and had pushed them back to Königsberg or something like that. Ludwig had been captured, or Feliks and the Russians would have a hostage for them to barter back.

"_Wir haben, mein Herr_." The boy said, Gilbert almost keeled over from all his nerves being released at once. They had won, they had won! Ludwig had pushed the Russians back away from his beloved city Ludwig was okay, all was going well in the east and soon all would be well in the west. This war couldn't last much longer.

News spread around the camp of the victory at Tannenberg in the east over the Russians. How Hindenburg out smarted the Russians knowing that by picking them off one by one he could defeat the much larger force. It helped to know that Rennenkampf and Samsonov didn't like each other tremendously. He wrote another letter to his brother that night, as the soldiers drank to their comrades' victory in the east, congratulating his brother for the defeat of the Russians and how proud of him he was. Once again he could hear the Watch over the Rhine being sung by the soldiers and soon he would join in their song.

**Author's Note (the part of the story where the author comes out and writes a silly note): **

**Sorry for the long delay, school can be quite overwhelming. I don't recommend eighteen credit hours and trying to write an extra fifteen page paper so you can attend a conference and present at it. Well I am now quite adept at understanding recruiting rhetoric during World War One, maybe I'll write a brief chapter on it later. Don't forget to review, tell me what you think is it horrible or okay? **

**Translations:  
_Nachrichten von der Osten, mein_ Herr: News from the East, sir.  
_Was ist sie, Jungen?: _What is it boy?  
_Sie haben gewonnen, mein Herr!__: _They have won, sir!  
_Wer haben gewonnen?_: Who has won?  
_Wir haben, mein Herr_: We have, sir.  
**

**Let me know if the translations, conjugations, or past participles are wrong.**


End file.
